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Here the Great Barber Paused, and, with a Tremen 
Dous Flourish, Read what He Had Written. 

(page 40) 



FELICE 


BY 

JOHN LUTHER LONG 

AUTHOR OF “MADAME BUTTERFLY,” “THE WAT 
OF THE GODS,” ETC. 


WITH FRONTISPIECE BY 

JAMES MONTGOMERY FLAGG 


j * 

> > ) 

> j > 


NEW YORK 

MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY 

1908 


Copyright, 1908, by 

MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY 

NEW YORK 


Published, September, iqoS 


Jwo tiooies rttt;?* ■ .V 


OCT 2 Ji'US 



Tht Plimpton Frost Norwood Mass. U.S.A. 


TO THE GENTLE STRANGERS IN 
OUR GATES — WHO SPEAK IN 
OTHER WORDS AND UNDERSTAND 
IN OTHER WAYS THAN OURS — 
THAT BOTH WORDS AND WAYS 
MAY BE MORE AND MORE ONE 




CONTENTS 


PAGE 

I. Assault is the Skeer of Violence . . 1 

II. It is Better to Starve than Steal . . 6 

III. Always a Lie is Untrue 14 

IV. Is It a Time to be Polite when Three — 

Four — Starve 20 

V. ’Tis Laughter Makes the Su*n Shine, 

’Tis Sorrow Makes It Rain ... 31 

VI. Some Hoard Vanity as Others Hoard 

Gold 34 

VII. The Fountain Pen is Mightier than 

Trouble 39 

VIII. The Special Stamp is Swifter than 

Justice — when it Goes Backward . 48 

IX. The Early Children Ketch the Magis- 
trate 55 

X. The Sovereign of the City Alone has 
Power to Turn Away the Chill 
Shoulder of the Gendarme ... 60 

XI. A New Stove Cooks Clean, Even as a 

New Broom Sweeps 66 

XII. For, to Steal is Not to be Thief — 

Always 72 

XIII. Some Mistake 76 

XrV. But the Tonsorielle of the Green 

Moon was Locked 82 

XV. There is no Joy in the Q. S 87 


V 


VI 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


XVI. The Commonwealth vs. Piccioli . . 91 

•XVII. The Strange Working of the Con- 
science OF THE Court 99 

XVIII. Must Ryan Eat His Hat ? 108 

XIX. The Truth — The Whole Truth — and 

Nothing but the Truth .... 118 

XX. Ryan Won’t Eat His Hat 137 

XXI. There is a Language which Needs 

Neither Writing nor Speaking . 139 

XXII. The Open Sesame is Most Divine. . 142 

XXIII. J'rom Fairy-land to the Land of Heart’s 

Desire 146 

XXIV. There is a Large Beast and Little 
Beast, yet no One Need Remain 
Beast 150 


FELICE 



FELICE 


I 


ASSAULT IS THE SKEER OF VIOLENCE 



^HE question was whether any- 


X thing should be done for the relief 
of Signore Piccioli, who had been 
arrested the night before, and was 
now in detention at the white palace 
where the streets crossed. And it was 
the shop of the great barber, Signore 
Martinos, the Tonsorielle of the Green 
Moon (that being the color most avail- 
able to the sign-painter) which, you are 
to be informed, was the forum for the 
adjustment of the disputes of all the 
world — but most, of those of his be- 
loved, and his own. Little Italy. 

‘‘ Speak, all, the American langvage,” 
begged the barber, — superfluously, 
since this was always understood here. 

“For, signori,” — he was speaking 
from the glittering chair which bristled 
with springs and levers, — “ had we not 


1 


FELICE 


been born Italians we would desire to 
have been born Americans. There- 
fore this assault — ” 

“There was not assault,” ventured 
Teti, the rash farmacien. 

Instantly Martinos leaped to a shelf 
concealed like a shrine by a silken cur- 
tain, and raped from it a book. 

“‘Assault,’” he translated, “‘is the 
skeer of violence without the accom- 
plishment.’” 

“Signori,” he continued, “when a 
mal-efac-tore rush madly in a baking- 
shop, and, with great force, tear two 
loave’ away — is not those the assault 
upon bread ” Thus avers Avvocati per 
Tutti — this “Everybody’s Lawyer” 
— and he flaunted the great book in 
their faces. 

All but the unhappy Teti were fain 
to admit that he had demonstrated his 
contention. 

“Precisely! He has skeer the vio- 
lence without accomplishment. Re- 
mark, fellow citizen and Italian breth- 
ren, it is the sheer of the violence not 


FELICE 


3 


the perfection thereof — Had he un- 
happily accomplished the whole vio- 
lence it would be assault and bat- 
tering.” 

Again he was interrupted. Rafaelle, 
the undertaker, entered. 

“There is no harm,” said the under- 
taker, misunderstandingly, “in a bit of 
domestic drunkenness. If the intoxi- 
cation occur at the fireside — ” 

“Larceny!” shrieked Martinos. 
“Quiet your uproar and observe that I 
spoke of larceny. And the skeer of 
violence.” 

“That is the bane of a drunken- 
ness,” said Pamphilio Carazin, the 
proprietor of the marionette theatre, a 
still newer comer, — “the public dis- 
order.” 

The wild despair of Martinos ex- 
pressed itself in a fixed and silent glare 
at Carazin. 

“There is the beating of the wive and 
children — there is the hunger and the 
grief.” 

Carazin was the only one in Little 


4 


FELICE 


Italy who had in the least Martinos ’s 
gift of oratory. He had once been 
chosen to make the Fourth-of-July ora- 
tion. Martinos had promptly printed 
a more fervid one in II Vesuvio. And 
now they were scarcely friends. 

“We have here establish,” amplified 
Martinos, in his most velvety voice, and 
in entire ignorance of any speech of 
Carazin, “in Italia Minora, with long 
use, internal order and domestic tran- 
quillity, and now it is fracture in pieces 
to the disgraze. It shall not be! Do 
you hear me, signori, it shall not be! 
He who steal our bread, purloin our 
best name away!” 

There was applause at this, and the 
diminished Carazin slunk to the rear 
with a too false pretence of indifference. 

“Now, who knows of his ancestery ” 
demanded the triumphant barber. 

“I hear he was a gondolier,” said 
the man whose trade was the mysteri- 
ous milk-balls. 

“Ah!” cried the barber, encourag- 
ingly. 


FELICE 


5 


“And is to the World’s Fair to gon- 
dol on lake like a saucers,” amplified 
Pistolio Angina, of the Broad Street 
“ white- wings ” cleaning squad — whose 
English was disgraceful. 

“Aha!” cried the barber, “and the 
larceny has lost him his employmen ’ ? 
It is just.” 

Cesare Gargantua answered: “Li- 
bera Rosa Rocco, she is most wise, for 
a woman; she say it is the lose employ- 
men’ occasion the lar-cen-y. He got to 
larcen or starve.” 

“Shall we then basely aid to release 
him from his chain demanded Mar- 
tinos, irrelevantly. “Shall we not the 
rather contend that his chain remain 
upon him and he stay away forever.^ 
This dam Piccioli ? Then have we 
always the grand peace, signori, it is 
most good! What you say.^” 

The sentiment of the elders was with 
the barber, and against the criminal. 


II 


IT IS BETTER TO STARVE THAN STEAL 

“Now, then!” cried Martinos, from 
his splendid chair, like another Csesar, 
“where is this Giovanni Nardi, the 
baker who was stole from ? Why is he 
not here? Let him be brought!” 

This was a royal command. And, 
almost instantly, the fat and good- 
natured baker was before them, and 
uncomfortable under the suspicion of 
having shirked a patriotic duty. He 
was in a white cap with a transparent 
green visor, his apron was on, and his 
sleeves were turned up from his flour- 
powdered arms. He panted and his 
fat quivered as he spoke. 

“Va!” he laughed; “perhaps it is 
true. But let him keep the bread. I 
make a present to him. What? The 
man was starve! Fame! Affamato! 
Any one could see that. And do you 
6 


FELICE 


7 


suppose that if I starve and smell fresh 
bread I will not steal ? Virgin! I will 
first kill. What.? Has no one smell 
fresh bread when he was hungry ? 
Then he dun’no’. Well, once on the 
streets of Napoli I — Virgin! It was 
three days I had not eaten! Well.? 
What .? I broke the window. I did not 
run. I only ate, ate, ate, before they 
took me. Well.? Could they take it 
from my belly .? Twenty days. So. 
The baker was a man. He come to the 
prison. I say I am sorry and was hun- 
gry. I will make reparatione by work- 
ing for him. What .? When my time is 
out he took me in his shop. And now 
I am baker myself and have shop! 
Virgin! If any one is that hungry — 
as I was — what .? Let him come and 
steal of Nardi the baker. He will turn 
his fat back. And so I will say to the 
newspaper — the advertise — the eccel- 
lenza the judge. There I go now.” 

A moment’s frightened silence greeted 
this innocent flouting of the great man 
in the chair. 


8 


FELICE 


“Stop!” said Martinos, as the baker 
started away. “That is the anarchy 
which occasion the killing of many 
people. Stand still! You are but 
baker — panettiere. You can declaim 
the sentiment of the p’ilosop’er! Ha! 
It is not your bread. It is of the right- 
eous! Virgin! You are of the animal 
call the ass! Stand still! You know 
nothing but the how it was. You are 
but baker — panettiere. Now tell me 
the manner how he stole. The ques- 
tion is but to determine the skeer of 
the violence, not what you philoso- 
phize.” 

The baker did this with subdued par- 
ticularity. 

“ Behold, I am in my panella — La 
Panella Italiana — il nome. I see him 
come. First he pause at the delicates- 
sen shop of Fritzen, among the sau- 
sages. Then he smell my new bread. 
It is the first batch of the morning. He 
think no more of sausages! Vergiano! 
Who would think of sausages when 
there is the smell of fresh bread ! What ? 


FELICE 


9 


The smell of fresh bread is good, 
signori! Bu-ully.” 

He was becoming too rhetorical. 
Martinos brought him to earth : 

“Concerning — how — he — steal! 
No more!” 

“ Then he come at my window. His 
face is pale. His lips work as if he 
masticated already some of my bread. 
Well ? Then he smell — he smell, do 
you hear ? So.” 

The baker sniffed ecstatically. No 
demonstration could have been more 
perfect. 

“The how!'’ said Martinos, inex- 
orably. 

“Smell, and look all about and steal 
to the door. Well? Virgin! There is 
a pile of new loave’ on the counter — 
perhaps an hundred. I know he is 
going to steal — I turn my back — I 
hear the door open softly — I hear it 
close — nothing! Nobody is there! I 
have seen no one steal! I cannot take 
the adjuration to that effect I laugh! 
He will be free!” 


10 


FELICE 


And he laughed then — long and 
happily. 

“Stop!” commanded the outraged 
barber again — and the baker stopped 
— though his fat still laughed. “When 
again you looked at your bread, were 
there not two loave’ gone?^' 

“I did not count — ” 

“The truth!” cried his inquisitor. 

“Yes,” admitted Nardi. “And I 
am grZad.” 

“Now, behole how the rascality tri- 
umph!” cried Martinos, pointing a 
finger at the baker. 

But yet again, the recalcitrant baker 
laughed, defiantly. 

“Va! The loss is four cent. The 
gain to him is that he not die — life ! 
I laugh! Aha, ha, ha! And I invite 
the signori to steal from me when they 
starve! I will turn my back! Ta ta! 
I am Nardi, the fat baker.” 

But now the barber was become 
terrible. 

“Virgin! Here is a man steal by 
stealth and skeer and the stole-from 


FELICE 


11 


one laugh! What is the morale of this 
when one laugh at larceny? Soon he 
will steal hats, coats. Soon all will 
steal. Italia Minora will be call but 
the Rogue Harbor! Convegno di Mal- 
fattiori! No, no one will occasion him- 
self work. Why shall he? It is good 
to steal — more good than to toil. All 
will steal. The hat, the coat, the pant! 
Then the money from the pocket which 
is call pick! Then the knock-down in 
the dead night! The deceased dark- 
ness! Then the homicide. Then the 
incendiar. Then the fracture safe in 
bank. Well, you all like those? You 
desire that if any one seek a mal-efac- 
tore he come first at Italia Minora? 
The land of the steal and the home of 
the bu-um? Is it enough I have de- 
claim ? Steal, steal, steal, from one an- 
other! Sir, it is better to starve than 
steal. I will write that upon a sheet of 
papiere for the hat that you may learn 
it. I say it is better to starve than steal ! 
And this’’ — Martinos was thundering 
now — “is the maintainer of the domes- 


u 


FELICE 


tic tranquillity! Sir, what was the end- 
ing of the unhappy event 

“All the time,” Nardi went on 
less surely, “is a gentarme watch the 
stealer, and when he have accom- 
plish the ack he clasp him. He cannot 
even bite the bread. He is stagger 
away with his head down — ashame’. 
But he bring him in my shop and as’ 
me do I see him purloin. Though I 
say no — he oblige me that I go at the 
palace of justice and other thing, where 
the streets cross, and make the adjura- 
tion against the stealer. I go thence 
now. He also — the poliziotto — take 
with him the loave’ to witness.” 

“And there,” cried the savage barber 
to the entire assembly once more, “is 
the maintainer of the domestic tran- 
quillity the internal peace of our Italia 
Minora!” 

There was a vague murmur of hos- 
tility. 

“Well — what?” asked the baker, 
dizzily submitting himself to them, 
well subdued now. 


FELICE 


13 


“Go — go! Now! You! You only 
baker, panettiere, not p’ilos’p’er, in- 
stantly,” commanded Martinos, “to 
the palace of justice and other things — 
as you designed, yes, but for different! 
Go, for the more righteous! Give the 
adjuration that will send to prison for- 
ever the mal-efac-tore who stole from 
you! Uphole the domestic tranquillity 
the internal peace, and the large name 
of our Italia Minora! Depart unto il 
palazzo di giustizzia! Fast — quick!” 


Ill 


ALWAYS A LIE IS UNTRUE 

The baker, frightened by the hos- 
tility to his generosity with which the 
barber had, somehow, charged the air, 
yet still striving to be defiant, paltered 
with his fate, and at last, and in the very 
least, desired humbly that he might go 
home and change his attire for such 
as more became the magnificence of his 
mission to the palace of justice and 
other things. But instantly the bar- 
ber, more savage, the baker more meek, 
detected and scotched this reptilian 
suggestion. 

“ But did you not this small while ago 
twice declare that now you go thence, 
Now?^' And, again, his tone was the 
velvet one which concealed the iron. 

So, the baker went sullenly. 

“Fast! Quick! Else I deny you my 
shop forever hereafter!” 

14 


FELICE 


15 


It was this which did it. You must 
know that it would. To be denied the 
entree of the shop of Signor Martinos 
— the Tonsorie of the Green Moon — 
by Signor Martinos himself, was, per- 
haps, only a little less terrible than to be 
denied the sacraments by Father Isoleri. 

“Always a lie is untrue!” said the 
barber, when he was done, looking 
after him terribly, and out upon his 
assembled neighbors warningly. “And 
it is better to starve than steal. Re- 
member! For, the starve damage but 
one. The steal damage much and 
many.” 

And, presently, when the baker re- 
turned, in a tremendous perspiration, 
and his fat hanging like rags upon him, 
he would have slunk past the door had 
not his watchful inquisitor flung it 
wide and cried imperiously to where 
he walked softly on the other side : 
‘^Enterr 

The baker did so — as if he dragged 
a ball and chain. 


16 


FELICE 


“Your appearance is of guilt,” said 
the barber, inspecting him, briefly. 
“Did you testify all those things they 
desire of you at the palace of justice?” 

“Yes.” 

“And what is the punish?” 

“Thirty day. It is so suppose.” 

The barber leaped at him, but did 
not touch him. Yet the threat of vio- 
lence was as immense as that of an 
arrested railway train. 

“Thirty day! That is the premium- 
ize of the crime ! At the end he will be 
again here to disturb the tranquillity. 
But thirty day of the grand peace. 
Sir, this is of your doing! It should 
have been thirty year! Sir, you have 
deceive me. You have not swear 
strong! You have deceive all Italia 
Minora! Sir, you have pity him!” 

“Yes!” and the baker was defiant 
once more. “ So did he, the most wor- 
shipful, who administer the justice. 
He, Signore Ryan allege if he could he 
would not punish! Except the law 
demand him to do so. What? I am 


FELICE 


17 


call prosecutore. And if I deny the 
larceny there will be not punishment 
therefor whatever. So say that Sig- 
nore Judge Ryan. Well.?^ This I do 
not but for you. What ? I would say 
I present the loave’ to him — but for 
you. Therefore it is you who imprison 
the larcener! You! What.^^ I have 
it not on my soul. Dam.” 

But the barber, instead of being 
appalled by his fell power for evil, said 
righteously : 

“ It is well. Sir, if you had not done 
the duty till you sweat, as I now ob- 
serve, no matter how little accomplish, 
I would deny my shop to you never- 
theless. Pity! Ha ha! I, myself, will 
go at the palace of justice and other 
thing and make the adjuration so that 
the mal-efac-tore is imprison for many 
years. Pity — I have not pity!” 

And he would have done so instantly, 
but that he observed the spent con- 
dition of the baker. 

“Signore,” he said, as he always did 
when he was become gentle, “inas- 


18 


FELICE 


much as you have attend to your duty, 
no matter how small accomplish, I will 
relieve you of the sweat of labor, ac- 
count you are fat, with my Tonique di 
Quinino, free of all payments!” 

Which, though the baker who had 
only a little hair, protested, he did, lead- 
ing him to his chair with great but 
firm gentleness, and working the levers 
and springs so that he lay therein as on 
a couch, and therein went to sleep. 

And then came the undertaker to 
further delay him, which, I think, in- 
deed was fate, as you shall see. So 
that it was at least a half-hour before 
he was once more ready to start on 
his sinister errand. 

“Sir,” said the barber, “I would not 
stop to serve you, except that you hurry 
here, there, and everywhere to serve the 
dead, and must git shave when the 
dead permit.” 

He told his purpose to the under- 
taker, who entirely agreed in it. 

Indeed, as they passed, he called in 
the elders of Little Italy to counsel, as 


FELICE 


19 


the Roman consuls used to do, and 
presented to each a lurid picture of the 
vacillation of the recreant baker, while 
the baker, stealthily walking, departed 
like a thief in the night. As one and 
all agreed with Martinos, his fury rose, 
more and more, and he sent them forth 
that he might lock his shop — a pre- 
caution he had adopted only since the 
advent of the chair with the springs and 
levers. 


IV 


IS IT A TIME TO BE POLITE WHEN THREE 
— FOUR — STARVE 

But a strange little procession ar- 
rived just then. So that the great 
barber paused with the key in his 
hand and forgot all about the criminal 
and his righteous fury, while a smile, 
such as no one who did not know more 
about him than I have told here would 
ever have suspected, spread over his face. 

First was a starved and sleepless- 
looking little girl of twelve, who carried 
in one arm a baby of three months, 
while another, of perhaps three years, 
held tightly her other hand. Yet an- 
other, a year older, trailed at the hem 
of her skirt — much too large and long 
for her. 

“Is this the shop of Signore Marti- 
nos asked the eldest one, in quite 
Florentine Italian. 

20 


FELICE 


21 


The barber leaped laughing to the 
pavement. (Did I tell you that chil- 
dren were his besetting sin? That it 
was said that he would go hungry at 
any time to feed them? Besides, Fir- 
enze was the land of his birth !) 

“Ecco! Si! You have come to the 
correck door with your caravana, signo- 
rina! Enter in! Signore Martinos him- 
self speak with you! Eh? What do 
you desire? To be shave? Aha, ha, 
ha! To be hair cut? Aha, ha, ha! 
No, no, no! Not for a million soldi 
would I cut those hair! Perhaps dye? 
Aha, ha, ha ! Or bleach ? See, I have 
here forty-seven hair shades! ‘Capelli 
Colorite!’ Aha!” 

And now, having dragged them with 
caresses and laughter into his shop, he 
exhibited the glass-covered card of 
samples of his hair-shade. 

“You the chair of judgment!” he 
cried to the eldest one, putting her into 
it with a bewildering clatter of levers. 
“You in the place of the counsel,” and 
he deposited the one of three in the 


£2 


FELICE 


high chair. “You on guard,” as he 
perched the one of about four in the 
other chair. “And as for you, sirrah!” 
with a touch that made the baby crow 
instead of cry, he balanced him on his 
shoulder! So that all were more un- 
comfortably apart than they had ever 
been. 

“Next the candy!” 

He drew from behind the silken cur- 
tain where the great book was the box 
which always waited there for children. 
The one of three put two tiny thin 
hands greedily into the box. 

“No, no!” laughed the barber. 
“One! One at a time. It is not to be 
greedy!” 

The little hands, used to obey- 
ing, regretfully let fall all but one 
piece. 

“ She has not eaten since three days,” 
said the eldest one, gently, hanging her 
own head. 

“Virgin!” cried the barber, his face 
ablaze. “And you! — you have eaten 
all ! Little animal ! ’ * 


FELICE 


23 


‘‘I have not eaten since four days,” 
droned the piteous little voice. “Per- 
dono!” 

The barber leaped at the one of three 
so as to frighten her. He snatched the 
box, snapped shut the tin lid, then flung 
it on its shelf again. 

“Wait!” he cried savagely. “Do 
not move ! I understand. Virgina, you 
starve.” 

He leaped out of the door in his fury, 
and the babies did precisely as he had 
told them. They did not move. He 
had been too terrible. They only 
turned their frightened eyes upon one 
another, as those may do who await a 
common execution. 

It seemed but a moment when he was 
back — his hands full of smoking sau- 
sages, a loaf of bread under each arm. 
And in another moment each one, not 
excluding the baby, had in one hand a 
huge piece of sausage and in the other 
a ragged piece of bread — torn ruth- 
lessly from the loaf. All to the de- 
lighted laughter of the magician who 


24 


FELICE 


had — so it must have seemed to them 
— brought manna from the skies. And 
all the while he chattered. 

“Virgin! I am larcener myself! I 
rush in that baking-shop. I say noth- 
ing. Alas! how Nardi look skeer! 
On the counter is a hundred smoking 
loave ! Only I clasp two loave’ — the 
same as he ! Aha, ha, ha ! — and rush 
away! Well.^ If a gentarme had been 
to see, it would be all op with me. 
There is no explanation. It is the 
skeer of violence without it is accom- 
plish. I am grand stealer! And Frit- 
zen! Aha, ha, ha! I think he pursue 
me now with troops!” 

He went to the door to look. 

“Well.^ Is it a time to be polite 
when three — four — starve 

He laughed again. 

“So was it with him — other stealer! 
And I do not go at the palace of justice 
now! Aha, ha, ha! I am bad rascal 
myself now! I git pinch! And Fritzen 
is there, perhap, with the adjuration 
against me/'* 


FELICE 


25 


Which did not seem to worry him 
much. 

Each little stomach was filled pres- 
ently. 

‘‘Oh!” cried the barber, with a sud- 
den compunction and once more darted 
forth. 

When he returned he had, balanced 
skilfully in his hands, four pieces of 
brown paper, on each of which was 
piled something which would, under 
more favorable circumstances, and with 
more desirable constituents, have been 
ice-cream. 

“Milk-ball!” he cried. “Milk-ball 
for dessert, signorine!” 

As they ate it — licking it up from 
the paper with their tongues — he flung 
anathema at the vender of milk-balls : 

“Va! It is beast — that milk-ball 
man! He has offend me! He shall be 
deported from Italia Minora! No more 
shall he enter the Tonsorielle of the 
Green Moon. Beast! To as’ the pay 
when three — four — are starve! There 
is no time ! Can he not see there is not ? 


26 


FELICE 


And to announce ‘Thief!’ after me 
when I rush away! Aha! Well, I am 
thief! I am grand rascal! Dam!” 

Even this was now eaten, and no 
one had spoken a word but the happy 
barber. There would have been no 
opportunity. Each small mouth was too 
busy otherwise. Nof he said, with the 
baby happily asleep in his lap : 

“Presently the name of my guests. 
Then the purpose for which they arrive. 
Signorine, it is most impolite to be 
not introduce and to not speak with 
your host as you eat. The names!” 

“Felice!” said the eldest, with such 
brevity that one might have suspected 
her also of an intention to sleep. 

“ Hah ! Little mother ! ” cried the de- 
lighted Martinos. “ It is a little mother ! 
And the next descending.^” 

“Issa,” answered the little mother 
for her. “And Litle, and the baby is 
Ricciotto and Floris!” 

The barber humorously leaped and 
looked about. 

“What.^ Is one overlook.^ You 


FELICE 


27 

speak five name, but here only is four. 
Resolve me this mystery! Item, I have 
all times to count and see whether three 
or four enter my shop — one is so small. 
Aha, ha, ha!” 

“Floriendi,” said Felice, “is home 
sick. She will die. We must go back 
to her! I forgot!” 

The little mother hastily slid out of 
the chair, this momentarily forgotten 
duty strong upon her — so strong as to 
be remorse! 

And the savage barber’s voice was 
small as the child’s as he asked: 

“Sick? Yes, come. Yet wait — one 
moment!” 

Again he plunged forth, again com- 
mitted larceny, and skeer three times, 
again returned — with more of the 
sausages, another loaf of bread, and a 
tumbler full of the milk-ball man’s 
product. 

“Now!” 

At last he locked the shop door with 
the key which had all the while been 
in his hand, and set forth in happy 


28 


FELICE 


fury, through the snow of the streets, 
with the baby still asleep in one arm, 
Litle in the other, while Felice and Issa 
walked demurely at each side and 
carried the food. And I don’t know 
which was the happier! 

Felice had utterly forgotten the holes 
in her shoes, through which the snow 
had come when she traveled in the 
other direction, and the barber forgot 
that there had ever been a heinous 
crime to the disparagement of the do- 
mestic tranquillity and the loss of 
repute of Little Italy — even to con- 
doning his own evil-doing. 

“For,” he explained, “it is heinous 
to steal. Yes! But law is one thing, 
hunger another. Aha, ha, ha! Hasten. 
It is wrong to desert the ill. The sick 
one should have eaten first. And also, 
the gentarme might take me en route! 
Oh, yes ! There is no doubt I have com- 
mit — not the petite but the very grand 
larceny, two, five, six time! I am very 
grand rascal! Yes! I am worse than 
he ! Have I not said in my vanity that 


FELICE 


29 


it is better to starve than steal ? Aha, 
ha, ha! But no, it is better to steal 
than starve. If I can steal I can also 
reverse myself. Who are the lovely little 
ladies ? Where do they come from and 
when do they arrive I do not know 
them. And I know all in Italia Min- 
ora. So, you are stranger. Well ? You 
shall kiss me when we arrive at the 
home. Will you.^^ The most chaste 
salute.” 

Of course they would. Now! And 
two mouths were put up. But he 
stopped them. 

“No! I will have my kisses at 
leisure to the greater joy of them! Yes. 
Also, it lack of decorum for ladies to 
kiss gentlemen in the seeing street. 
When we arrive at home.” (In fact 
he was embarrassed.) “W^ho is your 
father Who is your mother.^ What.^ 
Why come you to me?” 

“We starve,” said Felice simply. 

How could one answer everything to 
garrulous Martinos when he was in his 
happy furor? Besides, they were al- 


30 


FELICE 


ready come to the place they had called 
home. 

“What? Already arrive? Virgin! 
Direckly behind my shop! You are 
my neighbors! And I must love my 
neighbors as myself. Aha, ha, ha! 
Suffer little neighbors to come to Mar- 
tinos ! The beast ! Who destroy them ! 
Eat them all up! Shave their face! 
Cut their hair! Bleach it from ugly 
blue to lovely yellow! Aha, ha, ha!” 

But it was well that the barber 
laughed then. He could not have 
done so in a moment more. 


V 


’tis laughter makes the sun shine, 
’tis sorrow makes it rain 

For they went up, up, up, to the top. 
And then you must excuse happy Mar- 
tinos for weeping. For there on a hor- 
rid bed lay the fairest flower of a 
maiden any one had ever seen! So 
frail she seemed that Felice’s words 
appeared true. She was to die. And 
her hair was not dark like the others, 
but fair, and her great eyes were blue 
as the sky. She was a little older than 
Felice. 

And here it was that the great barber, 
with a heart even greater than his 
fame, knelt, like a mother, at the horrid 
bed and wept. But I cannot tell you 
— no one could — of the something 
which instantly passed from his heart 
to that of the little sick girl. So that 
the dear small face smiled up at him as 
31 


32 


FELICE 


if she were not afraid, and as if he 
were not a stranger. Indeed, it was 
said that the faces of children al- 
ways smiled at him. But the tiny thin 
hands of Floris went out to him also, 
and no mother has ever taken her 
child’s hands more gently than did he, 
this barber of Little Italy, take those of 
pretty Floris. 

“She is not ill,” said he to himself, 
shutting his teeth tight at the fate which 
made such things to be, “she is only 
starve! Steal! Yes, the baker is cor- 
rec’ ! Kill to save life ! That I under- 
stand now. Kill the ugly life to save 
the beautiful life. Yes, that is right. 
So is it among the beast of the field. 
Virgin! I am glad I am stealer.” 

There was no time for the dainty 
food which the barber, as well as you 
and I, know the child ought to have 
had. But since he fed her the sausage 
in very small bits, and smiled and 
whispered, and even sang to her as he 
did it, that humble food of the street 
seemed quite ambrosial. 


FELICE 


33 


“ There must be flowers for the flower 
to feed upon, and then the bees will 
come and kiss the flower and make 
sweet honey. But to-morrow for that! 
To-day it is Fritzen’s bad sausage! 
Aha, ha, ha! Yes, courage! To-mor- 
row and we shall eat flowers and drink 
dew!” 

All of which made the little sick girl 
laugh; and the others, seeing this, and 
knowing that it is birthright of children 
to laugh, came and clustered round and 
laughed too. So that into that room 
where the sun never shone the barber 
seemed to have brought it. 

“ ’Tis laughter makes the sun shine : 
’tis sorrow makes it rain — so my 
mother say to me when I was not three 
feet long!” laughed the barber. “And 
so I now say to you, who are but three 
feet long, Floris, cari mio!” 


VI 


SOME HOARD VANITY AS OTHERS HOARD 
GOLD 

“Now it is time to explain,” re- 
minded the happy Martinos, presently. 
“Why is it that the dear, dear cara- 
vana come happily to the door of my 
shop of the Green Moon? Who in- 
form you of it?” 

But they all fell silent. Suddenly it 
seemed as if he had again taken all the 
sunshine he had brought. 

‘‘Where is the mother, lovely one?” 
he asked of Felice. 

“Dead.” 

“Virgin!” whispered the barber, 
looking at the youngest. “How long 
ago?” 

“Month,” she added. 

“And your father?” 

Martinos was whispering now, and 
the ready tears were at his eyes. 

34 


FELICE 


35 


“In prison.” 

“ Virgin ! Then his name ! He shall 
soon be out. What a government is 
that will take so needful a father from 
so needful a family — no matter what 
the crime ! The name ! I, myself, will 
go at the palace of justice and get him 
for you. It is outrage upon the grand 
peace and the domestic tranquillity. 
And also the happy repute. The name ! 
Have I not the pu-11 ? Do we not vote 
aright.? Aha! The name!” 

Spoken like not alone a dictator of 
that city, but of the whole world, to the 
children! The barber raped his foun- 
tain pen from its pocket to make the 
necessary record and cried again: 

“H nome!” 

“Virvaso Piccioli,” said Felice. 

The pen dropped from the hand of 
the barber to the floor, while he stared 
distractedly from one small, terrified 
face to another. Presently he said, as 
if he but breathed it: 

“ Signorine, I have ruin — destroy 
you! I. I, who would die for you! 


36 


FELICE 


It is I have riveted your parent’s chain 
for ever and ever! Virgina, here is the 
punishment of vanity! Ah, vanity! 
Ah, vanity! Some hoard the vanity as 
other hoard the gold. I have not gold. 
No! Always is my rent not paid till 
gentarme come. But vanity! That I 
have suflficient to bu-urn! Bestia!” 

Those he had made so happy a mo- 
ment before now huddled together away 
from him, at his self-abasement. 

“They told us to go to you. They 
called you the great barber. She said 
that you were kind — Libera Rosa 
Rocco. The kindest man in the world. 
You would not let us starve — you 
would get our father back!” 

“I am beast!” cried the barber, smi- 
ting himself savagely on the chest. 

Then, seeing the terror this inspired, 
he said again: 

“No, no. I am kind. Do not be 
skeer. I am kind all right, but only 
animal call ass. That is all. I do not 
know what to do — for first time I am 
stun. Virgin!” 


FELICE 


37 


He was stalking up and down, when 
he suddenly stopped, laughed, brought 
the sun back, and had them once more 
all about him in a tight, thrilled audience. 

“Oh, my children, I have a large 
thought. Thus it is my large thoughts 
come — in the distress. When I laugh 
and cry — that is the time for large 
thought. Not alone when I laugh. 
Then it cannot. Not alone when I cry. 
Then it is not easy. But when both! 
Ah, then!” 

He was doing both now. 

“Here is the great thought.” He 
looked about as if there might be other 
hearers, and then went on. “I must 
undo myself. Also, I must be punish. 
Well ? I have sworn to the people. 
All the city is my witness. If I am 
wrong they never trust me no more. 
But, observe, there is a foolish baker — 
panettiere — stole from. Well ? If a 
mediatore went ? If I ? And there is 
a better mediatore than me!” 

“Who.J^” they all asked at once. 
This was hard to fancy. 


38 


FELICE 


“You!” he lauged. “All of you! 
Together! As you came at my shop! 
Yes! Excep’ Signorina Florendi. 1 
have a plan also for her. But you shall 
go at the palace of iustice and other 
things!” 

“Us?” came three terrified little 
voices, once more. 

“ But first we will write. That is the 
way a royal meeting is arrange. The 
letter. Quickly! Can you write? — 
the English? No. Then 1.” 

He had already recovered his foun- 
tian pen and was at work with his accus- 
tomed fury. 


VII 


THE FOUNTAIN PEN IS MIGHTIER THAN 
TROUBLE 

“ Eccellenza: 

“ It is true that for long time the grand 
peace and the domestic tranquillity has 
been here preserve, according to that 
Declaration of the Independence of 
Signore Washington. Yet, sometime, 
has it been broke beyond the wish of 
us and to the terrificatione of the peace 
of the city. For these we regret. But 
it is well known to us, Eccellenza, that 
the regret do not mend the fractured 
peace, nor establish once more that 
independence which lightens the word 
and we throw down. Moreover, it bring 
into evil repute that certain Piccioli 
whom you have there in chains. Con- 
cerning him, especially, these are writ- 
ten. Permit it to be known to your 
excellency — ” 


39 


40 


FELICE 


Here the great barber paused, and, 
with a tremendous flourish, read what 
he had written, to the awed little 
family. 

“It is all correck English, signorine, 
each word, and, observe, the American 
spirit is preserve, according — ” 

But it occurred to him that the Ameri- 
can spirit would not matter to them. 
Yet, it should be otherwise. 

“Do you know, my little ones, — my 
piccoli fanciulli — that it was an Italian 
who found this great country ? Ameri- 
go Vespucci! Si! We are brothers 
with the Americans, and no one can 
cheat us of that. It is true that the 
Spaniard call it, on the map, Columbia. 
But the people — us — we call it every- 
where and all time II America! Aha! 
Liberty or death!” 

The letter again: 

“ So let us write that his majesty the 
mayore may be well dispose. Speak you 
those thing which happen to you, as 
children speak, and so I will put them 
down in the English which is as that 


FELICE 


41 


1 have written. Correck and also im- 
posing. Thereby will his heart be 
weaken — il grandito sindaco ! — call 
mayore — and subjeck to the grand 
mercy — like the heart of a beautiful 
old lady in a cap and spectacles who 
takes snuff. Aha, ha, ha! To-day I 
have the very grand thoughts together 
with understanding. Now proceed as 
if all were yours but the fountain pen. 
I present you with what I have already 
compose. Signorina, the fountain pen 
is mightier than any trouble! Viva la 
penna a fontana!” 

“Sir,” began the little girl, perspir- 
ing, but understanding the tremendous 
importance of it. 

“No, no, no! Eccellenza! Another 
eccellenza is proper at this place. Ec- 
cellenza! On, on, my dear, dear 
child!” 

Thus applauded, the little girl stead- 
ily pursued her duty — perhaps the 
most difficult of her small life. Fancy 
her dictating a letter! To the great 
barber! The magician who had 


42 


FELICE 


brought the manna straight from the 
skies for them! And to be read by 
that sovereign of the city who held her 
dear father in chains — according to 
the rhetoric of the barber, which she 
had quite adopted. And yet more 
than all the rest, it palpitated with the 
momentous theme of Liberty or Death 
— again in Martinos’s Fourth-of-July 
phrases. He may have known — it is 
entirely likely that he did — that petit 
larceny is not punished with death 
in America. But the little girl did 
not. 

“Eccellenza, if our father is still 
chain at your palace, send him home 
that we do not starve. Yesterday he 
go to get food at the baking-place call 
La Panella Italiana and is pinch by 
gentarme. And our mother is dead 
soon ago. And Ricciotto is three 
month and yet eats only milk. And 
Floris is sick so that she die. And 
Litle is three years, and Issa is four, 
and I am twelve. My name is Felice. 
I am call “Little Mother.’’ And we 


FELICE 43 

all were hungry until Signore — il 
barbiere — ’’ 

‘‘ Not a word ! Not a word ! ” shouted 
the barber at her so that she was fright- 
ened. ‘‘Not a mention of the name of 
the beast who — No, no, no! That is 
my punishment. Also it will ruin you. 
See, I must erase three word. I am 
only animal! No part have I in the 
rescue — that is my sentence. I erase 
Barber.” 

This he did by the simple and direct 
expedient of moistening the end of his 
little finger — quite as he did when he 
had, now and then, through inattention, 
the misfortune to cut a customer. Only 
then he would put alum on the tip of his 
finger when he had moistened it. 

“Now from the word hungry. Affa- 
mata! On!” 

But at that moment he looked and 
saw two tears stealing down pathways 
they themselves made on the little girl’s 
face. 

Well, what barber could help it? 
Presently he had two of his own to 


44 


FELICE 


mingle with those of the little mother, 
and the letter went on with one arm 
about her after that. Which, you must 
know, if you have been a hungry, lonely 
little girl, with a large family, no mother, 
and a father in prison, is much better 
for both the letter and the little girl. 
Perhaps — for you — the letter itself 
may prove this. 

“So that, yesterday, my father went 
to that panella and got pinch, account 
we need the bread and have not the 
silver. We cannot come unto you, 
Eccellenza, for the baby cry. He will 
not stay with any one but me, and 
that — ” 

“Stop! Stop! You slmll come unto 
him! I have said it!” 

Again the barber had to warn her 
then urge her on. 

“All night, sweet Eccellenza, we 
wait, wait, wait. He is not come. We 
are that sad and hungry. We do not 
sleep, only wait. And then, in the 
morning is come a gentarme and tell 
us he is pinch and at your palace in 


FELICE 


45 


chain. And then our heart is break. 
Eccellenza, he do that for us who are 
hungry so long. So, break off his chain 
and punish us. That will be correck.” 

The child was at the end of her re- 
sources. But the barber knew the 
value of vernacular. 

“More! More!” he cried. “It con- 
vinces ! It will have power to break the 
chain of the captive and set him free! 
More — more ! It is better for chain 
than ax!” 

“Eccellenza,” the child toiled on, 
“thus we are tempted. It is three days 
we have not eaten. And I take the 
children out to look in the windows. 
In that of Signore Fritzen, who maintain 
the delicatessen shop, is beautiful sau- 
sages — oh, very beautiful ! In that of 
Signore Vespasiano are cakes that smell. 
Cakes with small fruits in the top. 
And as we look and smell we are starve 
more and more. Eccellenza, it is three 
days!” 

Again the happy barber clamored for 
more. But the child had exhausted 


46 


FELICE 


both the powers of her body and the 
contents of her mind. 

“I cannot!” she said weakly, relaps- 
ing upon the barber. 

“Nay, nay, nay! Think, think, 
think!” 

While he waited for her to think he 
found a tin cracker-box which had been 
the bright treasure of Issa, and made a 
fire of sticks in it at the side of the bed 
of Floris — whereat all laughed happily 
and never minded the choking smoke. 

“Well.^” he demanded of Felice. 

“I have emptied my head,” said the 
child, desperately. 

“No, no, no! Bite my pen! So it is 
I woo the great thought — by the biting 
of the pen! Bite my beautiful fountain 
pen!” 

And though he thrust it recklessly 
into the rosebud of a mouth, nothing 
more came from the beleaguered little 
head. 

“Well, then,” concluded the barber, 
cheerfully, “it is sujQScient. And we 
will finish it so : ‘ Permit me, most sweet 


FELICE 


47 


Eccellenza, to remain your obliged, 
obedient, humble friend: Issa, Floris, 
Litle, Ricciotto, and Felice!’ Aha, ha, 
ha! Now then, know there is a thing 
call special delivery stamp. Well ? One 
we put inside, on envelope address with 
the number of the great barber shop. 
One outside to the mayore — il grand 
Sindaco — aha, ha, ha ! — and quick 
like lightning come back the answer: 
‘Your prayer is grant. Here is your 
parent and much money. Be happy 
ever after. Virgin bless you! Mayor 
of the city.’ II grandito sindaco. Vir- 
gin! Hah! I am also prophet!” 


VIII 


THE SPECIAL STAMP IS SWIFTER THAN 
JUSTICE WHEN IT GOES BACKWARD 

All this the barber did. Yet not all 
that he had planned happened which 
is usual — or perhaps I had better say 
that not all he had planned happened 
as he had planned it — but much 
better — which is unusual. 

The letter, indeed, went on its errand 
as swiftly as he had hoped — almost as 
if it knew what need there was for haste. 
And, even more swiftly than any one 
could have fancied, the answer came 
back. But, nevertheless, between the 
two events there was time for some 
things to happen which belong to the 
story, and which I must tell first — 
according to your patience. 

“For the special stamp,” sighed Mar- 
tinos, “is swifter than justice — when 
it goes backward.” 


48 


FELICE 


49 


These are the things which happened 
to the story between the sending and 
the getting of the letter. Martinos 
said they were also for his penance. 
But, if that were true, it was the hap- 
piest of penances. 

First, he took them all shopping on 
the South Street. There was a certain 
Pietro Ardano, who in the life of the 
city was coachman to the millionaire 
Martin Muffin. But in Italia Minora 
he was a man of substance — having a 
private business of his own — the owner 
of no less than two carriages, which he 
let for hire. One was a mere cab. 
But the other was a hack. It was this 
the good barber comandeered, without 
a word of the expense, and into it he 
packed Felice and her family — saving 
Floris, for whom he had reserved some- 
thing more exquisite about which you 
are to learn. 

They came first to the store of Isa- 
dore Kron where a barker without, who 
screamed of the bargains within, invited 
them to alight. Without more ado the 


50 


FELICE 


barber, who was not wise concerning 
ladies’ attire, did this — only to dis- 
cover that Kron sold nothing but cor- 
sets — of which his family, as yet, knew 
nothing. But the next descent yielded 
well. Here a young gentleman brought 
to the very window of the hack a dress 
in red and green checks, very little 
worn, which he offered for twenty-three 
cents. There was no paltering with 
such a bargain as that! Especially 
when Issa’s eyes threatened permanent 
enlargement as the frock became hers. 
The young gentleman then led them, 
like a conqueror his captives, into his 
store. For he averred that it was his 
own. And, lo! there were shoes to be 
had, just as little worn — and stock- 
ings, some of them with absolutely no 
darns in them — and small petticoats. 
One, the young gentleman — who said 
his name was Von Lichtenstein — said 
had come from a perfectly unbeliev- 
able source. He let them understand 
that the child of a millionaire in mis- 
fortune had worn it. It had a separate 


FELICE 


51 


box all to itself on the shelf, and was of 
pink flannel, so soft that they had seen 
nothing like it before, and embroidered 
in blue silk. There was not a blemish 
upon it, and it smelled splendidly of 
camphor balls ! But the price! When 
that was mentioned, in whispers, after 
long consideration — they decided that 
it was quite impossible. But they 
were, of course, likely to be mistaken 
about the opulence and power of the 
magician who had brought down the 
manna for them. Seventy cents ! Yet 
the great barber not only took it, but 
paid seven cents extra for the box in 
which it was kept — and more, he 
took out his fountain pen and wrote 
on the lid: 

“Floris. From her adorer Marti- 
nos!” 

Then they came to the shop of Pas- 
quale Rezzio, where a beautiful sign in 
red and green, which swung to the 
breeze, announced that he was a jew- 
eler. 

Well, he had a ring for each one 


52 


FELICE 


which he would guarantee to wear a 
year without turning black. But one 
of them — the one for thirty cents — 
had on it the figure of a heart in blue 
enamel, pierced through with an arrow 
of crimson. Again did the barber buy 
a box, and again did he write on it: 

“Floris. From her Martinos.” 

He could have written more this 
time, so do splendid things grow by 
repetition, but there was much less 
room for writing. 

But you are not to suppose that on a 
day when the temperature was down to 
twenty, and when the snow was falling, 
the barber was unwise enough to waste 
much of his time and money on rings 
and such frippery. He knew, on the 
corner, a store where there were in the 
window wonderful over-garments — 
some of real Astrakhan, according to 
the placard. It was here that he next 
told the coachman to drive. 

When they emerged from the shop the 
barber would have shivered if he had 
not been so happy, but the little ones 


FELICE 


53 


had never been so warm. They were, 
indeed, entirely too warm. The bar- 
ber cast open the collars of their coats, 
which the shop-keeper had buttoned 
close about their necks. 

“Not too warm, my children. It is a 
cold country — a most co-old country 
until you get at the heart. Then it is 
more warm save one in all the world. 
Italy ! Italy ! But to-day ! Could one 
be happier even in Italy Not too 
warm, my beloved children!” 

Next came the household utensils — 
about which the great barber had to 
descend to seek information from the 
little mother. But together they bought 
a clock at Vardi’s with only a few bits 
of enamel off of the dial. And a cook- 
ing-stove, two coal-oil lamps, a can for 
the oil, and sixteen yards of rag carpet 
as good as new. Besides, there was a 
picture of Garibaldi in a cocked hat for 
decoration, and two blue glass vases for 
the mantel which Martinos remembered 
to have seen. Last was the fuel for the 
stove and the things to cook on it. 


54 


FELICE 


Then they went home and put the 
things in place, and afterward each 
took a hand at the cooking — and there 
was never a happier family than this 
one which the barber had suddenly 
adopted, as it sat down to eat its own 
cooking. 

“For my penance,” he explained 
again, concealing his happiness as well 
as he could, — “ my penance to the 
dead mother and the chained father 
whom I have insult. And the punish- 
ment of the vanity — for being animal 
name ass!” 

Lastly, with the help of the levatrice 
who came in, the Libera Rosa Rocco, 
who had sent them to the barber, they 
manufactured and sent a telegram, at 
frightful expense, to the World’s Fair 
concerning Piccioli’s employment. And 
again I say that if this were a penance, 
it was the happiest any one had ever 
performed. 


IX 


THE EARLY CHILDREN KETCH THE 
MAGISTRATE 

I DO not know everything about that 
letter to the palace at the crossing of the 
streets. But I do know that on that 
very day yet, as swift as a special-de- 
livery stamp could bring it, came an 
answer to the barber shop, whence it 
went, yet more swiftly, in the barber’s 
own hands, to the little garret back of 
his shop. 

Though it was addressed to the bar- 
ber, of course he would not open it. He 
was far too polite a barber for that. 
And even when the little mother begged 
him to do it because she could notread, 
he first said, 

“Then, by you leave, signorine!” — 
though he was quite mad to rip it open. 

“His Honor the Mayor has sent me 

55 


56 


FELICE 


your letter,” it said, “ and, if all it says 
is true, you are a brave little girl, and 
deserve to have what you ask. But 
tricks are so often played upon judges 
that I must make you come here, to 
the city hall, where I may see and ques- 
tion you. You know, the letter is written 
in a grown-up hand, and this address 
is a barber shop. Besides, Officer Vin- 
cenzo tells me that you cannot write 
English at all. But I think if you will 
come here we shall understand each 
other, and something may happen. I’ll 
see. 

“I am very sincerely yours, 

James Ryan, Magistrate'^ 

Even before he had reached the end 
of it, the barber was leaping from one 
end of the small room to the other — 
indeed, bumping his head furiously 
against the shingles before he was re- 
called to propriety. 

“Aha, ha, ha! Was it not right to 
have the large thought — and a cele- 
brated shop.J^ How he deteck me that 


FELICE 


57 


it is I write! And my shop! Perhap 
he have read on the Fourth of July, in 
II Vesuvio ? Aha! He is already free! 
Mourn no more, my children ! Ragazzi 
cari, mourn not! Did I not tell you? 
Now go to sleep. There is no worship- 
ful judge to-day no more. But to- 
morrow! Ah! Perhap” — and for a 
moment he was plaintive — “ perhap, 
after the penance is enough, after all 
is well, we may tell that it was the great 
thought of Martinos, the barber bestia 
in the tonsorie of the Green Moon 
and the Seventh Street. Sleep! Sleep! 
Dormire, ragazzi!” 

But do you think that any one but 
the baby slept in that garret on that 
wonderful night ? And the hours 
dragged leadenly, you may be sure, 
until ten in the morning — which the 
barber knew was the hour for the awak- 
ening of the judicial Juggernaut! 

So, promptly at ten, he arrived, cry- 
ing, even before he reached them: 

“Go, go, go! In haste go! What, 
not ready? I have been detain with 


58 


FELICE 


the shave of a dead man. Now go! 
At once! Be the very early children!” 

The frightened little girl begged him 
to go with them. 

“No, no, no!” almost whined the 
barber. “ I have not right to the glory. 
I covet it — Virgin! how I covet it! 
But I have no right. It is my penance! 
Yet it was a most great thought — was 
it not, my children ? Never have I had 
a more greater thought. Go, go; the 
glory is yours. I will wait here — in 
my penitence — I and my dear Floris. 
He say that you are brave! Well, who 
knows this better than I.^^” 

As he dressed them in their old cloth- 
ing they still needed urging. 

“ Beside, who will preserve the home 
in the absence ? I. And the brave and 
very ill Floris! I remain to preserve 
the home in penitence and tears — I, 
and the beautiful but ill Floris — and 
you go and return all fill with the glory 
of the palace! What? Yes! But the 
old clothe’. When you go to beg, wear 
old clothes.” 


FELICE 


59 


They were now ready. 

“You take the baby — yes — just as 
when the caravana came at my shop. 
And here hold the hand of Issa. Here 
of Litle. Now! Aha, ha, ha! Will 
not he that gives and receives justice 
rejoice in the beautiful caravana ? Did 
he not speak those about bravery! 
Well.J^ For that reason the more you 
appear unto him the more his joy is. 
Suffer the little children to arrive at 
the magistrate! Ah! And the very ill 
Floris and I will wait and be sad until 
you return.” 

(But there was not a bit of sadness in 
his plan for himself and Floris, as you 
shall learn!) 

“Nevertheless, not in the new clothes. 
For the new garment make the bad 
laughter and the haughty derision. 
But the old clothe’ make pity. Aha!” 


X 


THE SOVEREIGN OF THE CITY ALONE 
HAS POWER TO TURN AWAY THE 
CHILL SHOULDER OF THE GEN- 
DARME 

Now, they had no more knowledge of 
where the palace of justice and other 
things was than they had of the where- 
abouts of the antarctic circle. And the 
barber did not tell them. This was 
part of his cunning plan. 

“As’ — as’ — as’! Unto the poliz- 
ziotto — the gentarme unto whomso- 
ever you come — say, ‘ Our father is 
chain at the palace of justice and other 
thing. We go to break his chain that 
he may be free. Behole! Are we not 
most brave ? ’ Then observe if any one 
turn unto you the chill shoulder! Aha! 
La reffreddore di spella! Aha! 

“First, they will observe the ancient 
clothe’. Then is arrive in the heart 
60 


FELICE 


61 


pity. Aha! Next, say that the sover- 
eign of the city has sent for you and 
that you shall be guide unto him. 
Well, well, if they doubt — then show 
the letter. Alas ! it is all done and 
there is nothing but the huzzas!’’ 

Many people saw that little caravan 
as it frightenedly made its way through 
the snow from the Seventh Street, along 
the street called Christian, to the Broad 
Street, where lived the millionaires. 
And to many they repeated those say- 
ings of the barber, which they had 
memorized. And to others showed the 
letter, so that all the way there was an 
ovation for them. The windows were 
filled, and the doorways, and one told 
to another what it meant. And smile 
gave birth to smile, all along the poor 
and dirty street — for, curiously enough, 
the news of their progression preceded 
them. Presently, save here and there 
a tear where some one was, like the 
barber, too filled with sentiment, the 
poor street was lit with one great smile. 
And more. Many were not content 


62 


FELICE 


with this. One might hear some mur- 
mur aves. And others ask the Virgin 
to go with them. Yet others — all 
women whom one would know for 
their poverty — came and stopped the 
little ones to cumber them with strange 
gifts — of food — milk — as if the 
journey to the palace of justice and 
other things were far. And they did 
not refuse the curious things, but took 
them, and so increased their burdens, 
but smiled back at the givers, and 
repeated those sayings of the great 
barber, and showed that letter. 

So, when a woman with a child in 
each hand let one of them present her 
kitten to Issa, it was a gift too exquisite 
in the giving and the taking to be left 
behind. 

Thus, at last, they came from the 
mean little street called Christian to the 
one called Broad, whose splendor, they 
did not know, was indeed that of the 
Broad Way, while that they had trav- 
ersed was the travail of the narrow 
way. Here they stood bewildered, and 


FELICE 


63 


would have faltered before the magnifi- 
cence had not OflScer Vincenzo at once 
spoken to them. For he had seen the 
little caravan and its accompanying tu- 
mult coming up the street called Chris- 
tian. Only, as they approached the 
Broad Street, all that happy people who 
had followed and God-blessed them 
ceased. For no one ever came willingly 
from the little street called Christian out 
into the great one called Broad. It did 
not seem their country. So that they 
were suddenly lonely and terrified. 
The baby clung closely about the neck 
of the little mother, Litle held her hand 
with her mightiest grip, the kitten sunk 
his claws deeply, while Issa closed up 
so upon Felice’s heels that she could 
scarcely get along in the snow — and her 
new shoes. But it was at precisely this 
moment, when they needed him most, 
that OflBcer Vincenzo, whose beat be- 
gan at the city hall and ended at the 
corner where the broad and narrow 
ways met, came up to them. 

Now, the city had done many evil 


64 


FELICE 


things and had put many bad men into 
oflBce. But once in a great while it had 
done something good and had given an 
office to a good man. This latter thing 
had happened when it made Vincenzo 
a policeman. At least it was a very 
good thing for the little caravan, for he 
had a heart almost as kind as that of 
the barber, and he could speak Italian 
— of course, with such a name as that ! 

And so, after they had told him those 
sayings of the barber and showed him 
the letter, he laughed, and took the 
baby from Felice, whom he perceived 
to be very tired, and, with her tremb- 
ling little hand in his, led the whole 
procession along his beat, to the very 
gates of the city hall. There he gave 
them to another officer, who took them 
straight to the great magistrate — in a 
car which sailed up into the air many, 
many stories — with everybody won- 
dering and smiling and saying the very 
happiest of things, and wishing them 
the best of luck. 

Well, I think that when very many 


FELICE 


65 


people wish one the best of luck it is 
bound to come. 

But, first, stop and think of that 
march up the glittering Broad Street, 
in charge of an officer of the city, in 
full uniform of blue and gold! They 
had heard of the progresses which 
kings make to their thrones, and it was 
to this that they, in their beautiful, 
clean little minds, likened their own. 


XI 


A NEW STOVE COOKS CLEAN, EVEN AS A 
NEW BROOM SWEEPS 

But, alas ! before reaching the seat of 
justice, you must go back again to un- 
derstand what that cunning plan was 
that Martinos had reserved for Floris 
and himself. 

It was no more than this: He had 
discovered that Floris was not ill at all 
— only starved. Do you remember 
that.^ For he had had a doctor come 
in to look at her, without a soul know- 
ing that he was a doctor. And so they 
had fed her carefully, but kept her in 
bed, all in aid of the cunning plan, 
which, yet again, was to have her up 
and dressed like a royal doll when they 
all returned. 

So the little caravan was scarce gone 
on its great errand, when Floris, who 
was now let into the secret, was up 
66 


FELICE 


67 


and dressed. And they took another 
trip down the South Street — not in 
Ardano’s hack now — there was no 
time for ceremony. Sometimes Floris 
walked — sometimes Martinos carried 
her. And they did not go to any 
second-hand stores, if you please, but 
to a shop which sold everything, and 
where everything they sold was new. 
And here they bought a white dress for 
Floris — though it was the dead of 
winter ! — with some silver spangles 
and other things (I am not wise in 
such matters) on the waist — and white 
stockings and white kid slippers — re- 
member all that — and a beautiful cheese- 
cloth comfortable for the horrid bed 
where they were all to sleep a little longer. 

And you have not forgotten, I hope, 
the wonderful petticoat of pale pink 
with the embroideries in blue silk.^^ 

After that was a ribbon for her hair 
and one for her neck — the one blue, 
the other pink, of course. This was 
the barber’s color-scheme for her — 
white and blue and pink! 


68 


FELICE 


Besides, as they went along they 
chose from the line of turkeys and 
sausages which stretched at the curb 
from the Broad Street to the Eighth 
Street, on things like clothes-horses, a 
tremendous one which the dealer as- 
sured them weighed fourteen pounds! 
And they had to take his word for it. 
For they had no time now to stop to 
have it weighed. Nor did they care if 
the dealer was a bit enthusiastic about 
the weight of the fowl. 

“And Libera Rosa Rocco, she shall 
coo-ok it!” cried the happy barber. 
“In Rome she was once a co-ok!” 

“On the new stove!” added Floris. 
“And I will help. I can cook!” 

“AMiat.?” shouted the barber. “I 
do not believe it!” 

But of course he did believe it. 

“Observe this parable: The new 
stove is like the new broom — it cook 
bu-lly.” 

Just then they passed an ice-cream 
shop. And though it was the dead of 
winter, they went in and ate ice-cream! 


FELICE 


69 


‘‘ Just like the lovely ladies in white 
do at the parties!” breathed Floris. 

“Ah, there shall be a lovely lady in 
white!” said Martinos. “But where 
have you seen parties 

“Peeping in windows!” laughed the 
happy little girl. 

“No nearer than that.?” 

“That is very near, signore, is it 
not?” laughed the happy child. “Have 
you been nearer to a party?” 

“Si, my lovely one. In them! And 
so shall you be!” 

And, right there, again, he made an- 
other plan, of which you are to hear at 
the proper place. 

Well, they were so happy that, at the 
Eighth Street, where there was a “col- 
ored” gospel- wagon and a crowd of 
happy negroes, they stopped and joined 
in the singing — the barber with a 
tenor which no one would have sus- 
pected, the little girl with a thin thread 
of soprano — which was lost to all but 
the barber, and, perhaps, the great God 
above. “Nearer my God to Thee,” 


70 


FELICE 


was what they sang. And when the 
man came with the hat the barber 
showered such a handful of pennies 
into it that he stopped suddenly and 
looked up, for that had never happened 
to him in that poor street before. So 
that he said, while he looked kindly 
and lifted his hand in blessing upon 
the barber, 

“‘Blessed are the merciful, for they 
shall obtain mercy.’” 

This was a strange thing to say to a 
generous giver of money, but the barber 
fancied that it meant all that had gone 
before. 

“He knows,” laughed the barber, 
“ that I have been beast ! But he don’t 
know that I have been cure!” 

And the preacher, with a solemn 
black face, pointed him out as one to 
imitate, as he led Floris embarrassed 
and laughing away. 

And before they reached home it 
snowed great flakes, through which 
they kicked their happy way, careless 
of cold and wet, knowing that these 


FELICE 


71 


and many other ills were no longer to 
be feared in all this world! And for 
no reason except that they were happy 
— very happy. For they were both 
poor. 


XII 


FOR, TO STEAL IS NOT TO BE THIEF 
ALWAYS 

Now, quickly, back to the office of 
the great magistrate, where the caravan 
was just arriving in the greatest fear of 
the whole progress, as you will remem- 
ber, I hope. 

The ofiicer who guarded the door 
was about to turn them aside, when a 
grave, kindly voice, somewhere within, 
said: 

“No, Savin. I am expectin’ some 
children to-day. They are late. I 
have waited for them.” Then he must 
have seen them. For the voice ad- 
dressed them: “Is that you, Felice 
And Issa ? And Ricciotto ? And Title ? 
I have been waiting for you. How is 
Floris to-day — though he pro- 
nounced them as the English do. And 
made a mess of it. 


72 


FELICE 


73 


Try to fancy the effect of that upon 
the weary, frightened little caravan ! 
To have been expected! To have been 
waited for! By this great man in this 
splendid palace — where they had al- 
ready seen more wonders than in all 
their small lives before! And then to 
hear one’s first name spoken in a big; 
kind voice — all of their names ? And, 
last and most, to have the great magis- 
trate leave his seat behind the grim 
bench of justice and come forth and 
take them by the hand and lead them 
in, while he inquired about Floris. Oh, 
what a good, good country it was ! And 
what beautiful, beautiful people! Did 
every one have a kind voice and a big 
warm hand? It was not so even in 
Italy. Do you wonder that the little 
mother broke down and cried? And 
that all the others cried with her ? 
And that the great magistrate was so 
flustered that he could only say: 

“There, there! Don’t cry; I can’t 
stand that. It will be all right. Do 
you hear? It will be all right.” 


74 


FELICE 


While he dabbed at his blinking eyes 
with his handkerchief, and kept his 
face turned away from the onlookers 
at the seat of justice. For they had 
laughed at him a little — the loafers in 
the court. He used his handkerchief 
so seldom for crying that it was a mo- 
ment before he thought of it. And 
then it was a tear which hastened him. 
And, after all, the tear beat the hand- 
kerchief. For he had to search in all 
his pockets before he found it. And 
by that time the tear had fallen on his 
desk. 

The little mother told to the magis- 
trate, as if she were before some great 
court sitting in banc, the simple story 
of their loneliness since the mother had 
gone to the undiscovered country, and 
the father to his prison, and then of the 
illness and the hunger, and, quite last, 
of the sleepless waiting through that 
first night. Baldi, the interpreter, had 
to blow his nose furiously to keep his 
eyes from crying. 

And it makes me very happy to re- 


FELICE 


75 


late that this small magistrate — who 
had yet been inscrutably intrusted with 
power over human liberty — was both 
gentle and just, and that he stopped 
them when his own voice began to 
grow husky, and said to those who 
stood curiously by, 

“Boys, it is a true bill.” 

And when they said nothing, he 
asked, 

“Isn’t it.?” 

The only way they answered was to, 
one after another, fish out of their 
pockets such moneys as each could 
spare, and pass them to the good mag- 
istrate, whence they would find their 
way, much augmented, to the place 
where they would do the most good. 


XIII 


SOME MISTAKE 

“ There’s some mistake about those 
thirty days, kiddies,” said the magis- 
trate, “ thanks to that fool baker. He 
hasn’t been tried yet. I had to hold 
him for trial. But I could have dis- 
charged him — if you had only come 
earlier. But you shall have him back 
or I’ll eat my hat!” 

Which gibberish Baldi tried to trans- 
late. But, they only learned that there 
was some mistake. 

“But now he’s got to go through the 

Q. S.” 

Again, this did not penetrate them. 
They looked about hopelessly for their 
father. 

“He’s not here, you know, kiddies,” 
said the magistrate, “but — er — a — 
resting — that’s it — resting! Why 
don’t you help, Baldi! Yes, resting in 

76 


FELICE 


77 


a fine big — er — club house — down 
town — where he has plenty to eat — 
and is hap — happy. Di — don’t cry! 
For heaven’s sake don’t cry!” 

This being translated assuaged their 
disappointment. It is true that it was 
early in the day, and that there would 
be many hours to wait, perhaps, before 
it could be accomplished. But the 
man of the law had said that he would 
eat his hat if he did not accomplish it; 
and, as they looked at the hat neatly 
perched on the top of his head, they 
confessed, that, while it was a very 
shiny thing, yet — certainly no one — 
no one in the world would wish it in 
his stomach. So with oriental patience 
they waited. 

“Say, Harrington,” said the magis- 
trate, “ did you see that Carron put the 
case of the Commonwealth against 
Piccioli on the Quarter Session list 
for to-day.?” 

“Yes, sir,” said Harrington. 

The magistrate turned to the cara- 
van: 


78 


FELICE 


“ All right — all right, kiddies ! He'll 
be in the Q. S. to-day, and I’ll go with 
you there and see that he is acquitted. 
Yessir! Eat my hat if I don’t! Oh 
the judge and I are the best of friends 
— now don’t cry — look out! Don’t 
cry! I’m not a Supreme Court Justice, 
but if I can’t fix a little thing like this, 
for nice little people like you, I’d better 
get out of my job, had n’t I ?” 

Who of the children could have 
hazarded a word to this. 

“But had n’t I?” insisted the 
doughty Irishman, taking joy in the 
great mysterious eyes they turned upon 
him without understanding! “Say, 
had n’t I better take the tenth ward out 
of my vest pocket and hand it along 
to the Coachman’s and Footman’s 
Association for the Purification of Poli- 
tics ? — If I can’t ? What do you sup- 
pose this land of the Free and Home 
of the Brave is for? Say, had n’t I?” 

And, Felice, more out of terror than 
anything else answered: 

“Si, eccellenza!” 


FELICE 


79 


The Irishman laughed loud and 
long. 

“The first word since you came! and 
I don’t know what it is!” 

And they didn’t cry — much as they 
wanted to — because the magistrate 
laughed into the eyes which would have 
filled with tears, and held all of their 
hands at once in his great ones, crush- 
ing them together until it hurt a little 
— not enough to hurt really. 

“You see, I had a little girl, myself,” 
said the magistrate. “Understand 
But they did not and he repeated it in 

French. “ J’ai avez un petite fille 

no.^” That was as bad. Then in Ger- 
man. “ Ich habe un Madschen — kleine 

Madschen nix ? Well Baldi what 

are you here for. Tell ’em I speak 
English not Italian. I had a little girl 
about like this one! Say I HAD her 

9 9 

The magistrate turned and blew his 
nose. 

“And Baldi, be careful. Don’t say 
prison. Lie like I did. Call it a club!” 


80 


FELICE 


This the officer of the law did. And, 
there was a small room back of the 
magistrate’s office, where he sent them 
to wait while he disposed of the prison- 
ers whom he knew would presently be 
brought in, and, though they had 
candy to eat, and a game called par- 
ches! to play, they were not as happy 
as they ought to have been. 

Of course, this ruddy magistrate, 
with his many r’s and his adjuration 
concerning his hat, was very well. 
But, any one could tell that he was not 
of Italy — as was the magnificent bar- 
ber. After a hurried conference in a 
corner, so desperate seemed their need, 
Felice decided to take the caravan and 
fetch him. She was stealthily on her 
way out when the magistrate detected 
her. 

“11 barbiere” began Felice, byway 
of excuse for what seemed treason. 

“Barber.^” cried the ruddy judge! 
“What.^^ Do you need a shave?” 

And, Felice, not understanding, but, 
doing what the humble do, thought to 


FELICE 


81 


placate fate by weak complaisance, and 
nodded her head, whereat all the ha- 
bitues laughed to her extreme distress. 
But, Baldi explained to the magistrate, 

“Martinos, of the Tonsorielle of the 
Green Moon — a barber-shop, in Eng- 
lish — is a bigger man in Little Italy 
than you are here. Than any one ex- 
cept their own king and our president. 
He can do anything — in their opinion. 
They want him.” 

“Well, God bless their dear little 
hearts,” cried the man of law, “so they 
shall! Here Doran go. And, if he 
hesitates an instant arrest him and 
bring him before me!” 

“Hesitate!” laughed Baldi. “Wait!” 

So Doran, with instructions from 
Baldi went to Little Italy for Martinos, 
while Magistrate James Ryan went on 
with his hearings. 


XIV 


^ BUT THE TONSORIELLE OF THE GREEN 
MOON WAS locked! 

But the barber could not be found. 
His shop was securely locked. Floris 
was also gone! Think of such a situa- 
tion for the little mind already loaded 
with woe! But, whatever may have 
gone on in the inside of Felice, on the 
outside she was a Spartan. This was 
her first and greatest duty. When she 
had her father safe, then, she would 
take up this other — with the Blessed 
Virgin Herself, if the barber were un- 
true! So they made another journey 
with Doran, never releasing their hands 
from each other, in that same vast 
palace, to a place called The Court of 
Quarter Sessions of the Peace — the 
same which the ruddy magistrate had 
dubbed “The Q. S.’’ 

And, presently, they stood in a great 


FELICE 


83 


room, very grand in gilt and marbles, 
with a gallery about it, and a terrible 
clock which struck the hours on an an- 
vil. And there were many officers in 
blue and brass and an awesome air 
which chilled them and made them 
wish for the sun of Little Italy, which 
they sometimes before had found too 
warm. 

Presently, a nice little man, with 
white hair and pink cheeks, who sat 
upon a marble platform, dressed in a 
black silk gown, put on his long dis- 
tance glasses and looked at them. He 
smiled, too, and they were not a little 
surprised to hear — from Doran — that 
he was the judge who killed people. 

“He’s a good friend of Ryan’s,” con- 
fided the officer, and perhaps it was 
just as well that they never understood 
that “Ryan” was the magistrate, 
“though the Districk Attorney — ” who 
now entered and took his seat below 
the j udge — “ hates um ! Howiver, they 
both come from our ward, the good 
old Tenth, and you don’t need to care! 


84 


FELICE 


Jim won’t have to eat his hat — ” and, 
again, perhaps it was as well that they 
never knew that “Jim” was the all- 
powerful magistrate. But it was long 
they had to wait. And, many wonders 
saw the little people while they waited, 
which they could not understand. 

First was that ominous thing in the 
right-hand corner. Superficially, it was 
only a great, dull, dirt-colored curtain, 
which seemed to cover something with 
vast ribs. But, it was now and then 
moved by things within ! And, present- 
ly, they knew that it was human hands 
which moved the curtain. For, one ap- 
peared at the bottom. It was gnarled 
and grimy and, as it appeared, one of 
the several oflficers stationed about the 
mysterious curtain, struck it with his 
stick and it was quickly withdrawn to 
the sound of pain inside. After that all 
was quiet. But what was it 

Again, in the very center of the grand 
room, stood a sordid iron cage with a 
locked door, though it was quite empty, 
and, though, any animal which might 


FELICE 


85 


be confined there (and the children 
could not fancy for what purpose an 
animal might be confined there) could 
easily leap over the top which was quite 
open. 

“For creature which cannot leap,” 
explained Felice, wisely, “therefore, 
there must be creatures here which are 
not dangerous to the peoples, though 
inside are chains to, perhaps, fasten 
the feet of the creature.” 

But, why should there be cages for 
creatures here ? There was too much 
terror lurking about to think of it as a 
place of amusement. 

Fancy all these mysteries and not a 
word to explain them! 

Presently, a great bell, far up some- 
where, boomed ten slow strokes. The 
smith struck the anvil in the court-room 
ten smart blows and an officer rose and 
cried out: 

“ Oyez — oyez — oyez ! All manner 
of men who stand bound by recog- 
nizance, or otherwise, to trial in this 
honorable court, appear now that ye 


86 


FELICE 


may be heard, and may God save the 
Commonwealth and this honorable 
Court of the Quarter Sessions of the 
Peace, holden here this day!” 

Now, so suddenly that the children 
were caught in a wide suspiration, that 
dun curtain was drawn aside and the 
ribs were found to be the bars of a great 
cage, filled with people — men, women, 
and children. 

And, among them they saw their 
father. Do you wonder that three 
little hearts stopped at once.^ Only, 
at that moment, they found all their 
hands in those of the good magistrate 
— or heaven knows what might have 
happened. 

“No, no, no! No tears. You know 
how I hate um! Don’t look that way. 
There’ll be a different song, presently, 
or I’ll eat my hat! Laugh and the 
world laughs with you. Weep and you 
weep alone! Hanged if you don’t.” 

And, in fact, the good magistrate so 
placed himself that they could not look 
save through him, which was diflficult. 


XV 


THERE IS NO JOY IN THE Q. S. 

When one comes to know the Court 
of Quarter Sessions of The Common- 
wealth’s Peace, he will agree that 
there may be joy anywhere else on 
earth but here. For, here, tragedy is 
enacted day after day. And, to them 
that administer the tragedy, so must it 
be an old song, that they can sleep well 
at night — after having taken a mother 
from her children — a husband from a 
wife — a brother who has sinned from 
a sister who has never sinned. For the 
thing called justice is often accident, 
and judges and juries are but men who 
err — sometimes mistaking law for jus- 
tice. And, sometimes, men are tired, 
or hungry, or vexed, and it is pitiful 
that one’s life or liberty should depend, 
even a little upon weariness, temper, a 
dinner, or a theater-party. Whose per- 

87 


88 


FELICE 


ception of right and wrong is not dulled 
by hunger or anger? Is any one so 
wise as to be above this ? Or so strong ? 
Be sure that justice has its accidents. 
So that one is prone, sometimes, to 
believe that nothing is so often unjust 
as justice, that nothing errs so often as 
that thing which ought never to err. 
Of course, it is heinous to be late at a 
dinner. But it would be sad if some 
one had to spend ten years in jail be- 
cause a judge was in danger of it. 

Now the children saw some of them 
in the great cage, with blanched faces, 
led away at a mere word from the little 
pink faced man on the bench. Indeed, 
some of them went to execution — they 
had no doubt — at a bare nod from 
him. And the good magistrate who 
continued to hold their hands, and to 
keep between them and their father, 
seemed more and more distrait, as this 
went on, and less sure, and, they noted 
that he said nothing more about the 
hat. This produced, in their sensitive 


FELICE 


89 


and speechless little minds, that bit of 
fear which so easily grows to panic. 
They were not certain now. N o one was ! 

One who did not go to his doom wil- 
lingly was dragged out, certain women 
in black shrieking and following him, 
while there was drear wailing in the 
corridor without. They saw the hands 
of women torn — as gently as the oflS- 
cers could do it — from men who were 
taken away. And, one woman stood 
up — up in the midst of the court — 
and asked what she and her little baby 
— still at her breast — were to do for 
food, after they had taken her man 
away! Would the little man on the 
bench see that they got food.^^ Oh it 
was right enough to punish him — a 
little — for beating them — yes! But 
they were also punishing the mother 
and the baby anew. They would risk 
the beating if — Where was food to 
come from.^^ 

“ Where does he go whispered Issa. 

“To the place of killing,’’ answered 
the wise Felice, stoically. 


90 


FELICE 


Then, after a long time: 

“Is he dead now?” asked Issa. 

Only once did the small pink judge 
smile : 

A malefactor, it seemed, had, accord- 
ing to the accusation, feloniously stuffed 
a ballot box — whatever that may have 
been — and, according to himself, he 
was the victim of the opposing party in 
the politics of his ward. He, therefore, 
demanded a vindication. This he fi- 
nally got, after two lawyers had come to 
blows. The person who had been a 
malefactor a moment before was the mo- 
ment after, an injured, but vindicated 
citizen. The district attorney extended 
his hand in congratulation. They were 
of the same party. The small judge, 
who was of a different party, also ex- 
tended his hand over the marble bench. 

“It is a splendid vindication!” said 
the late malefactor. 

“Splendid,” agreed the judge. 
“Don’t do it again.” 

It was then he smiled. 


XVI 


THE COMMONWEALTH VS. PICCIOLI 

Then, again, an oflBcer stood up in 
the grand court and cried aloud: 

“The Commonwealth against Pic- 
cioli!” pronouncing it so that Felice 
gasped : 

“ Di — did he say — Piccioli 

“Yes,” said the good magistrate, a 
bit uncertainly, touching some of the 
nap on his hat to place, but also pres- 
sing all the small hands he could gather, 
together. “Don’t be afraid.” 

And, the district attorney commanded 
brusquely : 

“Put Piccioli in the small dock!” 

And, almost before it was com- 
manded, it was done. Their father 
was taken from the great cage and put 
into the small one where they supposed 
the animals were chained! 

It seemed monstrous to their little 

91 


92 


FELICE 


senses that no one even looked or cared, 
and that the whispering and laughter 
went on. Their father was bowed in 
such shame that he saw not even them. 

But before he quite reached the small 
dock, Felice, struggling between great 
terror and greater love, and against the 
good magistrate, who hated scenes, flew 
to her father and grasping his hands 
sobbed, just once: 

‘‘Padre mio!” 

The others had broken away from 
the magistrate, too, and when Piccioli 
looked up, there were all his little chil- 
dren — save Floris. But he could not 
touch them, for his hands were chained. 
Nor could he say a word, for his lips 
and throat were dry, but he could stoop 
and put his face to the face of each — 
before the district attorney could shout 
to the officers, who had turned their 
faces away, to do their duty. Whereat, 
the officers parted them, and Piccioli 
went on his way to the small dock, 
while the children were, again, herded 
together by the good magistrate and 


FELICE 


93 


Doran, with only those two words said 
at this awful moment: 

“Padre, mio!” 

For, of course, their little lips and 
throats were, also, too dry for any lu- 
brication but tears, and these were put 
out of the question by the terrors. 

So the gate of that iron cage they 
had thought was for animals clanged 
shut upon their own father, with a 
sound they will never forget. He was 
bidden to face the court, so that it 
seemed to the children, for the first 
time, and at such an awful moment, 
that their father had turned his back 
upon them! 

And the barber had not come! 

And soon, perhaps, it would be too 
late! 

“Is the place of killing near.^” asked 
Litle of Felice. 

But nothing could long keep the 
little caravan from their father, since 
he was so soon to be killed. If it must 
be they would die too. One by one 
they crept to the terrible cage and 


94 


FELICE 


slipped their tiny hands through its 
meshes and into those of their father. 
Not a word did they say, only to touch 
the dear body of him! The wonderful 
touches of children! You may be sure 
there were tears — and not all between 
the father and his children. 

And the vigilant officers saw them 
and looked away. The judge on the 
bench saw them — and put on his long- 
distance glasses and blew his nose. 
Alas, the district attorney saw them, 
too, and cried to the officers: 

“Take those children away!” 

But the court said: 

“Let them alone!” 

And the officers obeyed the court — 
very willingly indeed. 

However, while these things were 
going on at the small dock, a jury was 
swearing to “ Well and truly try, and a 
true deliverance make, between the 
Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, and 
the prisoner, whom you will have in 
charge, so help you God!” 

It was at this point that the good 


FELICE 


95 


magistrate had the courage to approach 
the court, at side-bar, and plead for 
the children — rather than the father. 
What he said, exactly, no one could 
hear, for he seemed not as brave here 
as in his own little court, and he spoke 
in a low tone. But, I think, it was the 
story I have told you. And the pink 
judge smiled and nodded, as if saying 
Yes, yes, all will be well! giving the 
children a moment’s cheer. 

“Telling judge about the hat,” ex- 
plained Felice, wisely, to the rest of the 
children. “So he do not eat it.” 

The two now called the district at- 
torney into conference, and, on the 
instant, the hopes of the children fell. 
He shook his head with great determi- 
nation from the first, and it was plain 
that that enmity which the magistrate 
had spoken of was a fact. Indeed, he 
let his voice rise angrily, so that every- 
body in the room could hear what he 
said. 

“If the court please, Piccioli must 
go to trial, and I propose to try this case 


96 


FELICE 


publicly, with this jury in the usual 
way, and not at side-bar. I know 
nothing but law here!” 

“Did ye say ye know nothin’ of law 
here?” asked the good magistrate bel- 
ligerently. 

“Oh, a trifle of humanity,” I hope, 
said the judge between them. 

“That is the province of the Board 
of Pardons,” said the district attorney. 

“Did you see, just now, Mr. District 
Attorney, the meeting between those 
children and their father?” 

“I did,” answered the ofiicer of the 
law, firmly. “To create sympathy.” 

“See them creep to touch him?” 

“Yes. I have children of my own,” 
said the lawyer. “I don’t allow that.” 

“I pity ’em!” snapped Ryan. 

“Did you observe the politician who 
got his ‘vindication’ just now?” the 
judge smiled on. 

“That was the righteous verdict of 
a jury of his peers, sir,” answered the 
district attorney. “We are obliged to 
heed it.” 


FELICE 


97 


“ Leavin’out ‘ peers ’ and ‘righteous,’ ” 
said Ryan. 

“What was your verdict.^” asked the 
judge, smiling. 

“As your Honor well knows,” said 
the officer, “it is no part of my duty to 
render verdicts. I am here to try cases 
according to the evidence.” 

“I know,” persisted the judge, pleas- 
antly, “but our minds do render ver- 
dicts, whether we will it so or not. 
Inside there is something which says 
after every verdict That was right — 
or That was wrong — and we can’t 
help its saying so. I suppose God 
meant it to be that way. I have an 
opinion besides my judicial one upon 
the justice of every verdict rendered 
here, and, sometimes, it does not agree 
at all with the verdict of the jury. 
Have n’t you ? If not, you are a 
strange prosecuting officer.” 

“Perhaps I have,” admitted the 
prosecutor. 

“ And, sometimes justice shies a bit 
smiled the judge. 


98 


FELICE 


“Perhaps!” 

“You bet!” said the magistrate. 

“Well,” said the judge, “if justice 
must shy sometimes, I hope you will 
permit her to shy now!” 

“I insist, sir, with, of course, due 
submission to the court, that this case 
must pursue the usual course. If there 
is reason for a pardon, after I have 
convicted the man, let it be properly 
submitted and I will not oppose it.” 

“Ah,” sighed the judge, “we both 
know how easy a prison door closes 
and how hard it opens! Jim — ” to 
the good magistrate — “ my savage pros- 
ecuting officer will not allow me any 
mercy to-day.” 

But, I am happy to say, that as 
Ryan left the bar, the judge winked, 
and the grasp of his hand said that, at 
least, the end was not yet. 


XVII 


THE STRANGE WORKING OF THE CON- 
SCIENCE OF THE COURT 

“Call those children to the stand/’ 
commanded the court, to an officer in 
blue and brass. 

“I do not wish to open my case in 
that way,” objected the prosecutor. 

“The court is informing its con- 
science,” smiled the judge. “It is not 
yet your case.” 

So, Felice, with Riccioto in her arms 
was led to the witness-stand, pale and 
great eyed, as if she were going to exe- 
cution. It was a wide marble place, 
with a great chair, into which Felice 
climbed with swimming head. 

“Administer the oath,” said the dis- 
trict attorney to the officer who stood 
by. 

“No,” smiled the judge, “she will 
tell me more of what I want to know if 

99 


100 


FELICE 


she is not more frightened. You need 
not listen to this,” he said to the jury. 
“It is not evidence.” 

But, it is quite certain that, all the 
more for that saying, the jury would 
listen, as well as for that smile the judge 
sent with it. 

“Will you tell the truth, little girl?” 
the district attorney asked. 

After Baldi had translated this Felice 
answered quite simply that she would. 

“What is your name?” asked the 
judge. 

“Felice,” answered the child. 

“Felice — Felice!” repeated the 
judge. “They give their children 
pretty names, don’t they Mr. Prose- 
cutor? What are your children’s 
names ?” 

“John, Jane, Sarah!” said the officer 
between his teeth. 

“Ah,” the judge smiled on. Then 
to the child : “ Do you know this man 

in the dock?” 

Felice wondered upon the judge for 
a moment. Then ; 


FELICE 


101 


‘‘He is my father” — as if that told 
it all. 

“Do you love him?” 

This, too, seemed so utterly super- 
fluous! So “out of court.” 

“Yes — certainly.” 

“Is he kind to you?” 

“Kind?” 

Such questions! 

“Certainly. When both are hungry 
he stays hungry and we eat — when 
there is not enough.” 

“Where is your mother?” 

It was a long time before the answer 
to that came. Certainly every one 
must know that she was in heaven with 
the holy Virgin herself. She looked 
upward, then answered, as if they ought 
to know all the rest: 

“Dead.” 

And, the somber little eyes went from 
the ruddy face on the bench to the dark 
one in the dock, and a tear stole down 
each cheek unconcealed. 

“ Dead — Eccellenza.” 

And, thereupon, a great silence fell in 


102 


FELICE 


that court. For the thing most won- 
derful in the earth had happened. The 
word, the tear of a child, had touched 
all hearts. There is a thing which is 
for the ignorant and intelligent alike. 
A something no one has yet measured 
or described, and it was this the little 
child in one word and one look and one 
tear had accomplished. 

And, somehow, Issa broke away 
from the good magistrate (perhaps he 
designed it so) and crept, taking her 
life in her hand, as she supposed, on, 
up to the marble place where Felice 
stood, her head rising just above its 
parapet, and caught, from behind, her 
hand, and held it very tight. And, 
that made Felice much more brave. 
And the rest, seeing this, and being en- 
couraged by it, stole, also, to the wit- 
ness-stand. But the officers who had 
not seen — or pretended they had not 
— the first invasion of the sacred place, 
were obliged to take notice of and stop 
this hegira. For who had ever in that 
grim court, seen a family group perched 


FELICE 


103 


in and about the place whence truth 
was supposed to radiate ? The oflScers 
started officially forward to check the 
invasion and clear the place of wit- 
nesses. 

But the pink judge put up a sudden 
angry hand, and they gladly retreated. 
For, even if there had been nothing else 
— to these officers who did the same 
thing in the same way every day — 
here was something new in their lives! 
So, here they were — the four of them, 
in the witness-stand, hand tightly in 
hand once more, determined to die to- 
gether rather than part. And, there 
was their father in the cage they had 
thought was for the animals, too des- 
perately beleaguered to be saved, yet 
smiling up at them, as if indeed some 
animal had suddenly seen its offspring 
safe, even though he must die. It 
makes me very happy to say that the 
tired little judge, looking from one to 
the other, seemed to undertsand both. 
And it all made him ask questions 
which had nothing to do with the case 


104 


FELICE 


or the law — which may seem strange 
to you from one who really adored the 
law. But perhaps, you have never 
known a Felice, or an Issa, or a Litle, 
or a Ricciotto ? 

“Where did you live — in Italy 
asked the judge. 

“First, Frienze, then Napoli,” an- 
swered Felice. 

“Always there is sun there,” added 
Issa. 

“ And bread,” still further piped Litle. 

“Yes, yes,” said the judge encourag- 
ingly. “ Of course. That is what little 
Italians need — sun, sun, bread, bread ! 
And how old are you — each?"’ 

They told him, with great particular- 
ity as to years and months and weeks 
and days. 

“ And that mother who is dead — 
when did she die.^” 

They told him this — all of them 
together. 

“And,” alleged Issa, “she is in 
heaven at the right hand of the blessed 
Virgin, waiting for us!” 


FELICE 


105 


“We shall go there,” alleged Litle, 
confidently. 

“Your father — does he work.^” 

They answered cheerfully that he 
did not. 

“That is bad — bad,” said the good 
judge. “Every one should work — 
and each day. That is good for 
every body — people should work. 
When they do not they are sure to 
get into mischief just as your father 
did.” 

They explained that he dare not 
work. 

“ What, dare not work ! ” The judge 
had never heard of such a thing. 

“No one will give him the work, and 
if they do — ” 

“But why — will no one give him 
the work? Does he work so badly or 
has he such habits that no one will 
trust him with work?” 

This was all the judge knew of 
work. 

“The union,” 
briefiy. 


explained Felice, 


106 


FELICE 


“The union?” questioned the judge 
dully. “What has that got to do with 
his work?” 

“He do not belong,” said the child. 

“Oh! But why doesn’t he be- 
long?” 

“Has not the silver,” said the child. 
“ He buy us food with the silver — 
when some he has. And wood in tin 
box for stove.” 

“ Do you mean to say that the union 
won’t let him work because he doesn’t 
belong to it, and that he cannot belong 
to it because he has not the money to 
join?” 

Through much questioning this was 
resolved. 

“Well, this is a fine state of affairs 
for you to investigate, Mr. Prosecutor!” 
said the judge to that official, as if, 
somehow, he was to blame for it. 
“WTiat is his trade?” the judge re- 
sumed, in his questioning of the chil- 
dren. 

“ Gondolier,” answered Felice. 

“Ah, well, I suppose there is no such 


FELICE 


107 


union here — since there is no such 
calling in America?” 

“They make him join bricklayers’ 
union,” explained the child. 

“Well upon my soul,” cried the 
judge, “do you hear that Mr. District 
Attorney?” 

And, further, Felice explained: 

“A man is come at him in Napoli, 
which stand in Italy, and is tell him 
that it is the land of the brave and the 
home of the free, where there is not in- 
justice, and where all are equal, and 
where one get rich in one year and re- 
turn to Italy to sleep in the sun, by 
the fountains of Napoli, and if he join 
the bricklayers’ union they will take 
care of him. The man has tickets for 
a steamship. Sometimes we are hun- 
gry even there. But he tell that here 
no one is ever hungry. Sometime, 
there, we have not the clothe. But not 
here — where is no want. So we 


come. 


XVIII 


MUST RYAN EAT HIS HAT? 

The district attorney had slumped 
hopelessly into the bottom of his chair, 
when this judge, whom he despised, in 
one of those moods which he detested, 
began to investigate the problems of 
sociology, which bored him. But he 
had long since become impatient. Now 
he had sat up and was playing ner- 
vously with the indictment against 
Piccioli. 

“ Will the court permit me to inquire 
what all this has to do with the larceny 
of two loaves of bread from one 
Nardi?” 

“ A great deal,” said the judge. ‘‘ We 
permit the agents of these steamship 
companies to make false representa- 
tions for the little gain it is to them, and 
here we have the result. It is our own 
108 


FELICE 


109 


doing — each of us. We are morally 
bound by it!” 

“This, if the court please,” sneered 
the officer of the law, “ is not a court of 
morals, but of law.” 

“Tell it not in Gath,” laughed the 
judge. “Law is morality. Excuse 
me, I should have said that it ought to 
be!” 

“If there were time for disquisition,” 
contested the prosecutor, grandly, “I 
would be delighted to show how little 
morals have to do with the administra- 
tion of the law, however much they 
may have to do with its construction, 
sir. But there are twenty-five cases on 
to-day’s list, and this is but the tenth, 
and it is nearly three o’clock — the hour 
for adjournment, and I happen to 
know that your honor has a reception 
to attend this evening at the Sinners 
Club. It is for the court to decide 
whether or not we are using our time 
wisely.” 

To the good magistrate, full of gloom 
and perspiration, it had long since be- 


110 


FELICE 


come apparent that the judge would 
lose him his case. He knew that cases 
are won by accommodation of circum- 
stances to men. The jury was getting 
tired and sullen. The district attorney 
would, now, have striven for the con- 
viction of an angel — so vindictive had 
the smiling judge made him. He knew 
that no one man was now equal to the 
calming of the troubled waters. To 
Felice he said, as he leaned heavily 
upon the railing of the witness-stand : 

“It’s going to be a close shave, and 
I hate to do it!” 

He affectionately polished the nap of 
his hat. 

Can you fancy how deep was the 
children’s despair when even the good 
magistrate lost hope ? 

But, at that very moment, there was 
a stir in the corridor, then at the door, 
then in the court-room, all eyes turning 
one way. They might have known 
that it was Martinos. For it was in 
this way that he always came. But, 
they did not know until his arms were 


FELICE 


111 


about them and his whispers in their 
ears. 

“ Courage — the vast courage, my 
children — Felice — Litle — Issa — 
Ricciotto — each name separate — I am 
here — Martinos and God! No more 
fear. Conquer, we shall, or die, alike 
those Napoleon say. What.? — do we 
not always conquer.? Me and God! 
Aha, ha, ha! Liberty or death!” 

It took the district attorney some 
time to recover from the amazement 
which the audacious possessing of the 
court by the barber had occasioned. 
Then he cried sternly for order, and 
all the officers did the same, while the 
two laid hold of Martinos and led him 
before the bar of the court and the 
smiling judge. 

But, Martinos did not wait to be 
charged, like a malefactor, with dis- 
order in the court, for which fine and 
imprisonment might be the corollary. 
He outstripped the officers and, step- 
ping into the enchanted place before 
the bar, bowed like a prince and said: 


in 


FELICE 


‘‘ To the eccellenza — the honorable 
great judge — may I speak?” 

“Well?” nodded the judge. 

“But — ” cried the prosecutor, “who 
is this person?” 

“An American citizen, desiring to 
advocate for the prisoner,” said Mar- 
tinos with a sweep of a hand out then 
back to his chest. 

“Oh, you are an advocate!” 

Martinos turned to the judge. 

“The eccellenza may be assure that 
I vote all-a-right. I have the pu-11 in 
the Tenth Ward.” 

The district attorney grew red in the 
face, the judge laughed happily. 

“What’s this? Make a note of it,” 
he directed his assistant. “ Get the 
man’s name and address — the wit- 
nesses. Prepare an information.” 

The judge grinned. 

“And, the man we acquitted just 
now? Was not the same information 
conveyed — in perhaps more guarded 
terms ? Don’t you both live in the 
Tenth Ward?” 


FELICE 


113 


Martinos was puzzled. 

“Sir/’ he asked of the prosecutor, 
“have I, then, not the pu-ull.?” 

“No!” thundered the district attor- 
ney. 

“That is most sad,” mused Martinos. 
“Some one is liar. Sir — ” he again 
addressed the more complaisant court, 
— “ seems like ’tis mistake. Dave 
Bicker he is boss of the Tenth Ward. 
He tell me if I vote right I have the 
pu-11 at the palace where the streets 
cross. Any leetle theeng I want can I 
have. Thereupon I vote all-right. And 
I make that all people in the Tenth 
Ward which come from Italy vote all- 
right. Me and my friends — and I 
have much friends. What.'^ Is it all 
lie.? Is it not that if I vote for this 
prosecutore, here sitting, I and my much 
friend, I shall not have the little pu-11.? 
And is it not a little pu-ull that on- 
chain this Piccioli, sir judge.?” 

By this time the pink judge was in 
convulsions. 

“Here is one of your vassals, Mr. 


114 


FELICE 


Prosecutor. What you would have 
done without the Tenth I do not know. 
Perhaps been left at home. Remem- 
ber that ingratitude is sharper than a 
serpent’s tooth.” 

Martinos saw the brow of the ofBcer 
of the law darken. He undertook to 
pour oil on the troubled waters. 

“But, parhap it is lie and you do not 
know those Dave Bicker. Parhap he 
has, what is called in this land, done 
me?” 

“Do you know Mr. David Bicker?” 
asked the judge of the district attor- 
ney. 

He did not answer. 

“ Give the learned district attorney the 
name of the gentleman who voted for 
him under the misapprehension that he 
had a pull, and was dividing it with 
you, so that he may indict him.” 

“That is precisely what I will do,” 
said the official squaring his shoulders. 
“What is his full name?” 

“Signore Dave Bicker,” said Mar- 
tinos. 


FELICE 


115 


“You mean David,” prompted the 
officer, with a pad in his hand. 

Martinos shook his head. 

“How can I indict a man under the 
name of Dave!” 

“II nome — is Dave,” said Marti- 
nos with decision. “Have I not heard 
it the thousand time ? Have I not 
drink and eat with him under those 
name ? What ? Do not all call him Dave 
and none call him Da-vid? Do I not 
know ?” 

“Precisely,” nodded the judge. 

“I will not be made ridiculous, nor 
will I risk a certain mistrial, by the use 
of a wrong name,” said the prosecutor, 
tossing the pad aside. “And now, if 
your honor pleases, I wish to proceed 
with the case of the Commonwealth 
against Piccioli. No one else seems to 
wish it.” 

“Go on,” smiled the judge. 

“ What is your name and address, so 
that you may go on record as counsel, 
for the prisoner,” asked the district 
attorney of Martinos. 


116 


FELICE 


“Martinos, barbier,” answered the 
advocate of Piccioli, haughtily. 

For a moment the district attorney 
was on his back — metaphorically. 
Then, with recovered breath, he said: 

“A barber! If the court please, I 
supposed that the man was an advo- 
cate unused to our practise, and, there- 
fore, I excused a bit of lack of decorum. 
I refuse to have further dealings with a 
barber, and shall proceed with the case 
as if no counsel had appeared for the 
prisoner.” 

“At your peril, Mr. Prosecutor. That 
is a matter for mel That person is 
counsel whom a suitor chooses. If he 
is unwise enough to choose one un- 
skilled in the law and skilled in the 
razor, so much the worse for him and 
so much the better for you. You will 
be certain of an easy victory. Here 
all are equal. You, yourself, have 
often said so. So have I. We cannot 
now recant in the heat of a trial. If this 
barber is the prisoner’s counsel he 
shall represent him 'and the case shall 


FELICE 


117 


go on. The constitution, happily, does 
not require one to be learned in the law 
to sustain this relation. Proceed. It 
is I who am mad now for the fray!” 

The judge smiled. 


XIX 


THE TRUTH THE WHOLE TRUTH 

AND NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH 

Then the little Felice was made to 
stand up and be sworn — the smiling 
judge saying: 

“Do as you are told, Felice, and all 
will be as well as it can be.” 

So, taking a very unclean copy of 
the Bible in her right hand, the little 
girl was asked: 

“You do swear that the evidence 
you shall give in the case now trying, 
shall be the truth, the whole truth, and 
nothing but the truth, so help you 
God!” 

To which she was made to answer 
Yes, and then to kiss the unclean book 
with her pretty child-lips. 

“Now,” said the judge, cheerily, 
“answer any questions the district at- 
torney may ask you, and if he asks 
118 


FELICE 


119 


you any you should not answer, I will 
stop him.” 

“Si, eccellenza,” said the trembling 
child, looking not at the judge for help, 
however, but at the great barber. 

“Did your father take these two 
loaves of bread from the shop of Pietro 
Nardi, without paying for them.?” 
asked the district attorney, flourishing 
a loaf in each hand, before the hungry 
child. 

“Yes,” answered Felice, and the case 
seemed ended. 

“But, child,” said the barber, “that 
do not you know. Only you hear, you 
do not see.” 

“ Si,” said Felice. 

“Hearsay,” smiled the judge, “ob- 
jection sustained. Answer stricken 
out.” 

“When your father left you it was 
for the purpose of getting bread, wasn’t 
it.?” tried the district attorney again. 

“Yes,” answered the child. 

“But, not to steal of it!” said the 
barber. 


120 


FELICE 


‘‘ No, ” said Felice. 

“Sustained,’’ ruled the court, gaily. 
“Answer stricken out.” 

“But he had no silver? You said 
so.” 

“No,” answered the bewildered Fe- 
hce, “he had no silver. I said so.” 

“Then,” cried the prosecutor, to the 
court, “I submit that he must have 
meant to steal!” 

“Perdono,” bowed Martinos, in per- 
fect self-possession, “eccellenza. The 
honorable prosecutore might mean to 
steal whenever he no money has — but 
not Piccioli. What ? Have he the right 
in this land of the free to thing for 
another — whose name is Piccioli ? No ! 
If he have no silver got — Virgin ! — 
he dunno there is people of Italy who 
givel Thus is Nardi the baker — II 
panate thieve ! ” 

“Precisely,” laughed the court. 
“That the prisoner had no money is 
not evidence of his intention to steal.” 

“What did the stolen loaves cost?” 
asked the district attorney. 


FELICE 


121 


But the court stopped him with a 
hand. And Martinos laughed at him. 

“The honorable — the eccellenza — 
if they cost they were not, then, 
stole.” 

The judge explained to the barber 
that that was a trick to catch unwary 
witnesses which was unworthy of the 
learned district attorney. 

“It’s a matter of twenty or thirty 
cents!” said the district attorney with 
disgust. 

“Virgin!” cried a voice from the rear 
of the room, “four centi — four centi!” 
and Martinos signaled happily to 
Nardi. 

The benchers laughed, and there was 
so much uproar in the court that the 
officers called out for silence. 

“ Clear those children out of the 
witness-box,” commanded the district 
attorney. “I’ll show you!” 

This was done, the ruddy judge 
taking the small hand of Felice in his 
and saying: 

“Don’t be afraid.” 


122 


FELICE 


Officer Gordon, who made the arrest 
of Piccioli, took the stand. 

He testified that he had seen a man 
who looked like him in the dock steal 
up to the door of Nardi’s bakery, open 
it cautiously, and, taking two loaves, 
rush out. 

“Did he pay for them.^^’’ asked the 
prosecutor. 

“No,” answered the witness. 

“Would you have seen him do so if 
he had.?” 

“ Certainly.” 

“Well,” sighed the judge, gravely, 
“I fear you have at last, by accident, 
proved the theft.” Then, to the bar- 
ber: “Mr. Barber, we are now in deep 
water. What shall we do.?” 

“Nardi!” shouted the barber, bellig- 
erently. 

“Now, Nardi, you that are fat and 
perspire, tell the truth,” said the barber, 
in his old savagery, “to the eccellenza, 
the judge, how Piccioli did not steal, 
hah .? Not like I told you before — 
but like you said.” 


FELICE 


ns 


“Va, non/’ said the baker, “I give 
it to him!” 

“How could you give it to him,” in- 
quired the district attorney, with ser- 
pentine politeness, “when you were 
not technically present — when, as has 
been testified, he rushed in and took 
the loaves and then ran out? Where 
were you?” 

“I turn my back,” said Nardi. “I 
see him coming to steal and turn my 
back!” 

“Oh, you saw him coming to steal! 
That will do.” 

“Signore,” asked Martinos, softly, 
suggesting what he wished, “you corrob- 
orate the gift now ?” 

“What?” asked Nardi. 

“You give him the bread now?” 

“Virgin! Yes and ten more! I do 
not know he starve! I do not know 
his little children starve! If any one 
starve let him steal of Nardi the fat 
baker!” He addressed every person 
in the room. 

The prosecutor laughed. 


124 


FELICE 


But it was one thing to gibe and 
quite another to vanquish Martinos. 

“Perdono!” he cried, fronting the 
prosecutor, with his head in air and a 
hand on one hip. “Here is man in 
cage who have — parhap — steal two 
loaf — and those not perfected, since 
he do not eat, and what is one steal 
for if one do not eat ? — yet, here is 
’nother steal two, four, six, I — ” 

Martinos pounded his chest sav- 
agely. 

“ — I with five steals upon my soul, 
the Virgin be thanked and adored — 
for same persons — account of same 
starve — and not give unto me — not 
even now corroborate — ” 

He fiercely waved the irrepressible 
Nardi to his seat. 

“ — I confess, here in this honorable 
courting place — that I am thief of five 
loave — yet am free ! Explain me 
those. Signore Prosecutore! Explain 
me those! ” cried the barber in a mad 
triumph, as he saw that he had again 
winded the oflScer of the law. 


FELICE 


125 


“You were not seen to steal,” at last 
answered the district attorney. 

“All Italy Minora see me steal!” 
shouted the now aroused barber. “ Nay, 
I shout it out! I cry on the housetops 
and in the street, Here am I, Martinos, 
who steal five loave of the righteous 
Nardi. Sausages from the German 
Fritzen. Milk-ball from beast. I am 
larcener! I am grand dam’ rascale! 
Stealer ! Come and take me — ye peo- 
ple — ye polizziotto ! ” 

Then he broke down and laughed 
in the very face of the cruel oflficer of 
the law. 

“If any one dare!” And no one 
dare! 

“If any one will make an informa- 
tion before me, I will see that you are 
arrested and tried as this Piccioli is 
being tried — that is, as I alone seem 
to be trying to try him. The law 
cannot move unless it is set in motion 
by the complaint of a citizen who has 
seen or been injured in his public 
capacity by a crime.” 


126 


FELICE 


The district attorney stooped to be 
didactic! 

“Oh, what a fearsome law is that 
which moves not in the land of the free 
until it is push!” laughed the barber. 
“Hah! I see! To commit the larceny 
with completeness, one must have wit- 
ness with. One must hasten to the 
lord prosecutore with notification, one 
must paste hand williams, one must 
make outcry that he is larcener by 
the gong and bell and crier! Nay the 
advertize ! V irgin ! ’ ’ 

Now the barber forgot the prosecutor 
in a frenzy of patriotism, addressed to 
the pleased and smiling and interested 
pink court. 

“ Signore — eccellenza — I am born 
in Italia and am proud — dam’ proud 
thereof. Yit, more proud am I that I 
live in the land of the brave and the 
home of the free. What.^^ Are we 
not brother ? Am I not American citi- 
zen Have I not swear to uphold the 
government till I die.^^ Did not my 
beloved countryman, Amerigo Vespucci 


FELICE 


127 


discover you, and all Americans, eccel- 
lenza ? Oh, yes ! There was a liar name 
Christoforo Columbo! Poof! You tell 
him he is liar when you name your 
country — on the streets, on the sign- 
boards — everwhere where it is name 
except the map! America!” 

Some one in the rear said hurrah 
and as the officers started after him, 
Martinos bowed his thanks with a hand 
on his heart. 

“Signore, judge, I have study,” Mar- 
tinos went on, “Those declaration of 
Signore Washington so that I can speak 
every word of it, sweet eccellenza!” 

“I’ll bet a dollar that the learned 
district attorney can’t,” laughed the 
judge. 

“Can your honor sneered the 
prosecutor. 

“No,” laughed the judge. 

“Then,” bowed Martinos, to both 
of them, “it is my most great pleasure 
to instruck the court and the prosecu- 
tore: The liberty of speak free shall 
never be obstruck with bridge. Nor 


FELICE 


US 

shall any lady or gentleman be prevent 
from speak his mind, per himself or 
another, signore, and all citizens shall 
live by common sense. Yet, here is 
man imprison for four oenti ! Yet here 
is man is steal to the extent of four 
centi that this children may not die 
and you chain him in the place of 
beasts! Is the law a fool.^^ And why 
cannot baker give it now, after it is stole 
from, if one can marry the lady after 
the child is born and be the father 

The little pink judge stuffed his 
handkerchief suddenly into his mouth, 
then said judicially: 

“ Mr. Martinos — I think you said 
that is your name ? — it is for the 
learned district attorney to answer you. 
I cannot. But, in the meantime, I will 
gladden his heart by asking you to now 
proceed with this case in the orderly 
.fashion of the law. We have been ex- 
tremely disorderly, it is true, but the 
court is of the opinion that it has been 
good for us. The clerk will read the 
indictment.’’ 


FELICE 


129 


To the reading of this momentous 
document Martinos listened with great 
patience — for him. Then, when it 
had been read publicly, he asked 
whether he might inspect it. 

‘‘That is your privilege,” said the 
court, “and, further, if you find, in it, 
anything which is wrong, you must call 
the attention of the court to it.” 

In his reading Martinos soon sniffed 
a contention: 

“Signore,” he said, “here is it said 
‘Of the value of twenty cent!’ Hah! 
Know you not that there is a difference 
between value and price ? Signore, I 
have bought a pants of the value of one 
centi and have paid three doll’ for ! 
What.? And these loave! Have you 
not hear my friend Nardi say that the 
frice is but four centi? Va! What 
then is the value ? More than the 
price? Yet, here are they charged at 
twenty centi!” 

“If the court please,” cried the dis- 
gusted prosecutor, “it is altogether but 
a few pennies!” 


ISO 


FELICE 


This woke the barber’s wrath. He 
thundered so that even the prosecutor 
looked uncomfortable. 

“But a few centi, signore judge! It 
is five time what the price is — and 
know what the value ! Suppose, sir — 
signore — suppose millionaire was 
caged for embez-zle-ming of his bank- 
ing place here charge with five time! 
Signore, would it stand 

“It would not,” said the judge. 
“Mr. Prosecutor, you draw your in- 
dictments entirely too loosely — ” and 
he slowly closed an eye at Ryan, 
who, hopeful once more, had sneaked 
up to the bar. “I fear that is a fatal 
defect.” 

The district attorney would have 
opened the vials of his wrath upon the 
barber, here, had not the barber, at 
that moment, opened more and greater 
vials upon him. 

“Here,” he cried, beating down all 
opposition, striking the indictment in 
one hand with the fist of the other, 
“is name I do not know! It is not 


FELICE 


131 


this man in the chain, it is no one I 
know!” 

He flung the indictment into the dis- 
trict attorney’s face and stood with 
superb, concaved back. 

“Why isn’t it demanded the oflScer 
of the law, now really quelled, and 
looking again over his work. 

“It is spell with one c,” said the 
barber with dramatic finality. 

The district attorney laughed. 

“In all the world,” went on the 
barber, “it is spell with two c’s. I do 
not know this name. This man is not 
before the honorable court. He is the 
wrong man. He must be set free ac- 
cording to that declaration of Signore 
Washington!” 

The pink judge nodded. 

“But — this is monstrous,” blustered 
the district attorney, with a very red 
face. “One letter!” 

“It is the law,” smiled the judge. 
“And you, yourself, said, a little while 
ago, that you knew nothing but the 
law — no moralities — nothing but the 


132 


FELICE 


strict construction of the law. Other 
things were for the pardon board. 
Picioli is manifestly not Piccioli.” 

“And, signore, judge,” added Marti- 
nos, not, now, entirely without appre- 
ciation of the judge’s attitude, “but 
this small while ago is it not that the 
lord prosecutore would not do legal 
things unto those Dave Bicker, which 
was a friend in need, on account that 
he do not have the right name ? Account 
Dave was not David?” 

‘ ‘ Precisely, ’ ’ agreed the j udge . What 
is sauce for Bicker, is sauce for Piccioli 
— with one c.” 

“Take the witness-stand,” thundered 
the prosecutor. 

Martinos did this with all his grace. 

“Now then, you swear that this name 
is wrongly spelled.” 

“By the Virgin, I do,” said Martinos. 

“Do you know this man?” 

“No. I never saw him before.” 

“Then how do you know that the 
name is wrong?” 

“There is no such name, therefore 


FELICE 


133 


no man can have it, therefore, — it is 
not.” 

“Then your only reason for thinking 
it wrong is literary and not fact.?” 

“That I do not know,” admitted 
Martinos. 

“Ah, I thought so!” 

“ I think,” said the judge, “ that he re- 
fers to your language and not the fact.” 

“Yes,” agreed Martinos, solemnly. 
“Outside of dictionary such language 
have I never heard.” 

“Nor I,” laughed the judge. 

“If your name were spelled with two 
n’s it would still be your name, wouldn’t 
it?” 

“No, signore — and — permit me,” 
asked Martinos with a bow. “What 
is your name, signore?” 

“Murray,” said the officer. 

“Again. How many r’s?” 

“Two.” 

“ Yet again. And with one — would 
that be your name?” 

“I am not on trial,” snapped the 
prosecutor. 


134 


FELICE 


“Am I?” asked Martinos. 

“Oh, answer his question,” urged 
the judge. “He answered yours.” 

The district attorney sulked in the 
bottom of his chair. 

“I have proved, aliunde, that this is 
the man who stole the bread, no matter 
what his name.” 

“But, also,” said the judge, “they 
have proved that this is another man 
than the one indicted. It is for you to 
prove that a man whom you have indi- 
cted as Picioli, is the man whose name 
is Piccioli, then you will be right.” 

“How can I disprove my own indict- 
ment It is the very way to destroy 
it and free the prisoner. I will not do 
it!” growled the prosecutor. 

“It is a hard case for you,” sympa- 
thized the judge. “You know the 
name and the man and the crime go 
together.” 

“If the name is right,” added Mar- 
tinos, “it is the wrong man. And if 
the man is right it is the wrong name. 
What is the answer, signore.^” 


FELICE 


135 


“I will amend the indictment — 

“Leave refused,” interposed the 
judge. “There has been no notice to 
counsel for the other side.” 

“Then I will ask leave to quash this 
indictment — ” 

“Leave granted,” said the court. 

“And,” concluded the prosecutor, 
with his teeth savagely set, “at once 
arrest him upon another informa- 
tion!” 

“Who will make that information ” 
laughed the barber. 

“Officer Gordon!” said the prosecu- 
tor, in triumph. 

“In the meantime,” ordered the 
judge, “the prisoner is disch — ” 

“ I will lodge a detainer at the prison,” 
interrupted the prosecutor. 

“Then back to the prison with him,” 
ordered the laughing judge. 

But, to Ryan, suddenly stricken hope- 
less, he said: 

“Ryan, if you can get to the prison 
before the detainer — here is a dis- 
charge,” whispered the judge, handing 


136 


FELICE 


a paper he had quietly prepared in 
advance. 

The two clasped hands, while the 
district attorney was hurrying the clerk 
at making out his detainer. 

‘Tt will take at least ten minutes till 
that is ready,” said the judge, “and if 
you have ten minutes start — ” 

“I don’t eat me hat,” laughed Ryan. 

“Prisoner remanded,” ordered the 
judge. 


XX 

RYAN won’t eat HIS HAT 

Everything seemed to have col- 
lapsed, and no one knew exactly where 
the case stood. All save the pink 
judge and the good magistrate. They 
led Piccioli out and into the yellow 
prison van, and Ryan hurried the chil- 
dren out and into a carriage which 
stood near, shouting to the driver of 
the van: 

“I kin beat you there for a five!” 

“You kin, kin you.^^” 

Each lashed up his horses, and the 
good magistrate laughed and hugged 
the children, all in a bunch, and said: 

“Say, do ye see it.^” 

It was his shiny hat. 

“Well, I won’t have to eat it — 
thank the Vargin!” 

He had told Martinos, who anxiously 
followed to the carriage, to go about 
137 


138 


FELICE 


his business — which he seemed to un- 
derstand though the children did not — 
and about which Martinos went obe- 
diently. 

“I don’t want too much help in this. 
I’m going to reverse the district attor- 
ney, now, and defeat him next election. 
And I want the credit of it. We’ll let 
the van beat us by a minute.” 


XXI 


THERE IS A LANGUAGE WHICH NEEDS 

NEITHER WRITING NOR SPEAKING 

Well, they were as I said, presently 
huddled into another carriage — only 
fancy ! two carriages in this story — 
with the judge and the children and 
the cat and all the things which had 
been given them on their progress to 
the palace of justice, and for a long time 
they drove and chattered, and even 
laughed. For this great judge, who 
might snap shut the doors of the prison 
upon one as easily as one could wink, 
whom, indeed, the babies supposed 
could condemn one to death, was the 
very j oiliest of men now — quite as 
jolly as their father when he had work. 

It seemed to matter very little to him 
that since the father had been taken 
away the little children had suffered 
somewhat in the way of cleanliness, nor 

1S9 


140 


FELICE 


that their clothes were old and worn. 
Perhaps they did create pity. On the 
other hand, he seemed to love their 
great pathetic eyes, and their hungry 
foreign faces — though they could not 
exchange a word. But, thank God, 
there is a language which needs no 
writing or speaking, and this they all 
spoke to their heart’s content — on the 
way to the prison. 

For, at last, the tremendous frown- 
ing gates of the prison were before them. 
And they would have been dreadfully 
frightened but for the magistrate’s 
smiles. But they knew, in that lan- 
guage I have mentioned above, that 
men do not smile that way when they 
are taking little children into peril. 

“Bill,” said the magistrate to the 
warden, as he handed him the paper, 
“here is a discharge for Piccioli, who 
was sent up yesterday. But I want it 
to be handed to him by these children. 
They are his. He did not steal the 
bread. The prosecutor swore so. It 
was a present! We’re in a hurry — If 


FELICE 


141 


Murray’s detainer gets here before we 
get away I’ll have to eat my hat. See 
Well, the grim warden knew that 
this was a little irregular. But he, too, 
was looking down upon the little cara- 
van — into the great, wondering, pite- 
ous foreign eyes — reading in their 
very muteness all those things which 
wardens learn so unerringly to read, 
and so he nodded, and, taking the 
paper, led the children away. 

A happy thought came to the magis- 
trate just then. 

“Bill,” he whispered, “let them do 
it all themselves! Come away!” 

Again the warden hesitated a mo- 
ment, and then went on, saying, 
“Well, I guess it’s all right, Jim, or 
you wouldn’t have come yourself.” 

“It is all right,” said Jim. “The 
rightest thing we ever did! But hurry! 
Murray is after me!” 


XXII 


THE OPEN SESAME IS MOST DIVINE 

So it was that a repentant sinner, sit- 
ting with his shamed face in his hands, 
looked up with a great thrill as a joy- 
ous chorus of little voices spoke his 
name. 

They tried to tell him, presently, 
when the sobbing had given way to 
smiles, that he was to come with them 
— there was to be no more hunger, that 
some tremendous power had set them 
all free. But he did not understand. 
No one was there but his little happy 
children. No savage turnkey with his 
keys and arms, no guards, and the door 
stood open. How could he understand ? 
Have prison doors ever before been so 
opened ? 

He rubbed his eyes (for it might 
nevertheless be a vision), and yielded 
presently, though perhaps some harsh 

142 


FELICE 


143 


voice would order him back to his cell 
and he would hear the steel door clang 
between him and his loved ones once 
more. But no, they led him out and 
on and on, the way they had come. 
And, as they went, the great locked and 
barred doors, as they came to each in 
turn, opened before them without so 
much as a word from any one, in a 
way that was more wonderful than 
any miracle he had ever read of, or 
any magic in the books. On, on, until 
they stood without the walls, once more 
in the beautiful free world! And the 
gates were behind, the sun above ! Even 
there stood a coachman with the open 
door of a carriage in his hand and a 
smile on his face. And the penitent 
had not had to even wish for it all. 
Indeed, it had come though he doubted. 

“Who has done it.^^ Who has the 
great power?” whispered Piccioli. “It 
must be a king.” He still looked 
doubtfully about. 

But they could not tell him. They 
would never be able to tell him. And 


144 


FELICE 


what was the use ? They had him 
once more — devouring him with their 
arms and eyes and lips. What was the 
use — to them ? They had him ! 

But there is use to us. It is good to 
know that a little child may be more 
powerful than the greatest prince — for 
liberty — for humanity. And it is not 
ill to know that there is in the world the 
things we have found in the hearts of 
the people of this story. For there are 
such people and such hearts all about 
us every day — only we are busy mak- 
ing money or wielding power and we 
pass them by — unfortunately for us ! 

Before the carriage could drive off, 
the magistrate put his hand through 
the window, and said, only because he 
was a judge, in thought and habit, 
charged with the custody of people’s 
morals — you probably know how that 
is: 

“Piccioli, I know that this will be the 
last time I shall ever have occasion to 
punish you. Be brave. A brave man 
under misfortune has friends always. 


FELICE 


145 


See how the courage of these children 
has worked a miracle! God bless you 
and them!” 

Of which Piccioli understood nothing 
but the grasp of the hand with which it 
ended. And if you have been in prison, 
and are once more free to walk in the 
good air, see the sun, be above sus- 
picion, with your dear ones so close 
about you that it is impossible for them 
to get closer — you will remember such 
a grasp of the hand as the magistrate 
gave Piccioli. 


XXIII 


FROM FAIRY-LAND TO THE LAND OF 

heart’s desire 

AVhen the carriage, straight from 
fairyland to the land of heart’s desire, 
discharged its load in Alaska Street, 
there was the feast spread and ready 
to eat, while, in such regal array that 
they had to look twice before they were 
certain it was she, sat Floris at the 
head of the table. The royal doll of 
Little Italy! The barber had schooled 
her to her part. But she could main- 
tain it only an instant, when she, too, 
flew upon her father, with flaming pink 
spots in her cheeks, and sobbed quite 
as she would have done had she not 
been dressed up and been only Floris. 
But, of course, she showed him the 
dress with the spangles, and the rib- 
bons at neck and hair, the pink petti- 
i4e 


FELICE 


147 


coat, and the white stockings and 
shoes — directly. And — 

“You!” cried Martinos, when his 
opportunity came to get at Piccioli, 
and for no other reason than that he 
looked less like the malefactor he had 
described so savagely in his shop than 
any human being he had ever seen. 
“ You are young — and handsome — 
and humble — and distressed — and 
innocent! Signore, I have harm you. 
Observe, I make the grand amende!” 
Whereupon he kissed him on the 
cheek. 

“Also I extend to you the right hand 
of fellowship and hope you will be so 
gracious as to take it.” 

Well, do you imagine for a moment 
that Piccioli did not ? 

He further exhibited a telegram from 
the commissioner of the World’s Fair 
which guaranteed Piccioli work the 
moment he should arrive. 

“But you shall not go, fratello mio! 
You shall stay in our Italia Minora! 
We are brothers!” 


148 


FELICE 


Think of that! 

However, when Signor Martinos said 
a thing it was known to be as good as 
done. 

Then, in a happy tumult, they sat 
down to eat. 

But they halted a moment for the 
great barber to make a speech — with 
the tears flowing down his face. 

“My dear, dear children! Most 
sweet signorine!” And then he sol- 
emnly bowed his head. “Beautiful 
dead mother ! I have harm you 
beyond belief. I have been beast, 
rascal, when Heaven demand that I 
shall be friend and comforter. I have 
condemn for stealing once. Yet I 
have steal five time — and for the same 
purpose. Hence I am become five 
time more larcener than you, which, in 
my pride, I consign to the chain for- 
ever. Have I made the grand amende ? 
II grandito amande, signorine ? Is the 
penance of Signor Martinos now suflS- 
cient.^^ Am I enough humble? Have 
I, more than you, break the peace. 


FELICE 


149 


Fracture the domestic tranquillity ? Am 
I of reproach full measure?” 

Well, when they were through with 
him, they had left him no more doubt 
of all this — even his own personal 
disgrace, since he would have it so — 
than I leave you. 


XXIV 


THERE IS LARGE BEAST AND LITTLE 
BEAST, YET NO ONE NEED REMAIN 
BEAST 

Martinos was celebrated for over- 
doing things. You can see that he was. 
And he maintained his reputation in 
this happy penance. 

“Sometime one is mistake,” he said 
in his shop that afternoon when the 
siesta hour had brought thither a goodly 
company. “Moreover, sometimes one 
is beast. Also, there is great mistake 
and small mistake. Likewise there is 
large beast and little beast. I — I, 
your barber, have made the great mis- 
take, and am also large beast. Not 
alone this, signori. I have led you in 
my same evil pathway. You are all 
mistake — all beast. Yet, not great 
mistake — not large beast. That is 
for me. Sometime mistake cannot be 

150 


FELICE 


151 


fix, and beast got to stay beast. But 
I have that happiness to inform you, 
sweet signori, that, through vast pen- 
ance, this mistake have been com- 
pletely repair, and that no one need 
remain beast. 

Whereupon he told them all, saving 
himself in nothing but the full measure 
of his penitence. He ended thus: 

“Now, to be beast or not to be beast. 
I will perambulate the hat. I shall not 
look. All us like beast have gone 
astray. Let him who has been beast 
return unto the fold, and give according 
to how much mistake he has been — 
how much beast — unto the injured 
little ones — the insulted father — the 
beautiful dead mother — else forever 
hereafter hold his peace, and stay beast 
and stay mistake! To the end that 
to-night shall be a party at Signor 
Carazin theater of marionettes, and 
afterward eating at the Albergo e Trat- 
toria of Signor Riccio. Success to the 
successful, sweet signori!” 

The hat was duly passed. And I 


152 


FELICE 


am ashamed to tell you how heavy it 
was. Certainly there was enough for 
very many theater parties at the mario- 
nettes — if they chose to spend it so 
foolishly. 

But, for this night, at least, it was 
not to be permitted. For Pamphilio 
Carazin rose in his place and said: 

“Signori, I have deposit in the hat. 
Nevertheless, I hereby present as many 
seats at The Adventures of Orlando 
Furioso, now in its sixteenth week of 
performance, as is desire. Further- 
more, they shall not be of the small 
price, but of them that cost fifteen 
cent!” 

And instantly Martinos fell upon his 
neck and all their differences were for- 
ever healed. 

But Christani Riccio was speaking. 

“Sirs,” he said, “to the same cause, 
I dedicate a supper for so many as my 
trattoria will contain. And the list to 
eat shall be without limit save what the 
house itself contain. And it shall be 
all without price. Notwithstanding, I 


FELICE 


153 


have also deposit in the hat when it 
perambulate in front of me.” 

And Ardano, the rich coachman of 
the millionaire Martin Muj05n, would 
have them go in his two carriages — 
the cab and the hack, though he also 
had not slighted the hat. While the 
milk-ball man, and the jolly baker, each 
insisted that some of their merchandise 
should grace the feast. Teti, the far- 
macien, sold sweatmeats of the most 
delicate flavors, and he also would not 
be appeased until Riccio permitted him 
to furnish the sweets. Libera Rosa 
Rocca, the levatrice, who happened by, 
came in and said she should see that 
the cooking was right, no matter whether 
Riccio’s chef liked it or not. 

And if you think that Rafaelle the 
undertaker had nothing to lend to the 
feast and the occasion, you show your 
ignorance of him. He said he would 
send a wagon-load of flowers. And 
though all knew that these would be 
flowers that had graced some funeral 
before they came to the feast at the 


154 


FELICE 


Trattoria e Albergo, yet not a soul had 
the less joy in the offer of them for 
that reason. For, did they not all love 
the dead and pray masses for them ? 

And though I am sure that you can- 
not fancy what Pistolio, of the Broad 
Street cleaning squad, could send, you 
will not be surprised to know that it 
was nothing less than a carpet he had 
found at the back door of a Broad 
Street palace, for them to walk from 
the carriages to the door of the theater, 
and afterward to the door of the Eating 
and Sleeping Restaurant. 

And all had deposited, nevertheless, 
in the perambulating hat. 

Well, there were tears in the eyes of 
the sentimental barber when he heard 
of all this munificence. 

“ Virgin ! ” he cried. “ How the grand 
pity enlarge the soul till it bust out and 
’most kill one ! One-tenth of this — 
one-hundredth — one-thousandth — I 
did not expect. Yet, here is the ca- 
pello I perambulate full to busting and 
nothing to spend! How can I spend 


FELICE 


155 


it when no one will let? Then, what 
shall be done with it ? — what, dear, 
dear, dear signori?” 

Some one suggested that it be put in 
the bank. Another, who knew arith- 
metic, rapidly calculated that when 
Floris was ready to be married she 
would be very, very rich if it were left 
to grow. So, with one shout of accord, 
that was determined. And perhaps 
some day I shall tell you that story! 

For then and there they determined 
precisely what sort of festival they 
would make of that event, forgetting 
that then they would all be old, old 
men! 

And all of those other things hap- 
pened, quite as had been planned by 
the barber first, and then by all of 
Little Italy. And I wish you to stop 
and recollect that that does not occur 
often in this curiously out-of- joint world 
of ours. 

I wish I might tell you about it. But 
I think that Floris wore to the theater 
and supper the white dress with the 


156 


FELICE 


silver spangle, and perhaps the pale 
pink petticoat with the blue silk em- 
broideries, and the white shoes and 
stockings, and the hair and neck rib- 
bons, and her ring with the blue enamel 
heart transfixed by the crimson arrow. 






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